


Such Golden Gifts

by SylviaW1991



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), But what else is new?, Canon-Typical Violence, Consent is Sexy, Crowley Has Hemipenes (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Established Relationship, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Heaven and Hell Are Both Terrible, M/M, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), male-presenting pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27567178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SylviaW1991/pseuds/SylviaW1991
Summary: Aziraphale was static. He was stable and steady. His bookshop didn't change, and neither did he. He hadn't drastically altered hishairin six thousand years, let alone anything else. He was happy being him. And Crowley was happy with him being him.The change had been a very rare impulse that had been thought about to distraction. He'd studied anatomy diagrams and had then made sure everything worked before he'd called Crowley and teasingly claimed that he was feeling quite alone in a locked shop and no demon to keep him and his chocolate wine sauce company.Everything worked, yes.He stared at pregnancy test number forty-two.Everything worked.--Six years after Armageddon't, Heaven and Hell think they’ve got quite the opportunity to enact revenge on the traitors. If they can even find the happy couple who have no interest in their future being as controlled as their past.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 95
Kudos: 145





	1. Suspicions Confirmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has a secret, and he can't keep it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Kittyknowsthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittyknowsthings/pseuds/Kittyknowsthings) for supplying the title when I was braindead! And for always being a source of warm blankets in the GO-events server!  
> And thank you to [skimmingthesurface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface), [ladydragona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona), and [Saminander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saminander/pseuds/Saminander) for cheering the loudest and giving me inspiration and some beta help.

**One Month Ago**

It had been an accident. 

Aziraphale breathed in a careful inhale, fighting the struggle in his exhale. Deep and even, yes, that's what he needed. Like Crowley’s thru-

His breaths hitched, so he swatted the thought away and urged himself to breathe deeply. Slow, deliberate, yes. Just breathe and everything would be tickety-boo. 

But it wouldn't, really, would it? It had been an accident. His own foolish mistake. Thoughtless, really, and now there would be consequences. Consequences which would have to eventually be shared.

\----

**Three Months Before That**

He barely had time to say hello before he was hauled close, lips crashing into his. Aziraphale’s giggle was muffled, but he didn't pull away. On the contrary, he pushed himself closer. His arms lifted, twining around Crowley’s neck as he was backed into a suddenly empty bookshelf. 

“I changed something,” he managed between heated kisses. 

“Did you?” 

“Mmhm. If you dislike it, I can change back. I've practiced a few times now just to be sure. It's-” 

“Whatever you did, I'm sure it's fine.” Crowley hauled him close again, a slender thigh pressing between Aziraphale’s where he expected to find a familiar firmness. He was soft and giving instead, cheeks flushing prettily when Crowley experimentally moved his leg. “Oh. _That_ sort of change.”

“If you don't like it-” 

“Angel,” he interrupted, “I love it.”

\----

**One Month Ago (Again)**

He'd changed too much. Never had he bothered to alter his form in that way, preferring throughout history to be perceived as a man-shaped being. Effortless until that became something of a problem. Public bathhouses had necessitated something, so he'd manifested a phallus. Simple. Something he and his body naturally gravitated towards. 

A lot like the way he naturally gravitated towards Crowley, even when he'd told himself he mustn't.

They were well beyond must and mustn't now, weren't they? The end of the world - or, rather, the lack thereof - was well behind them. They'd weathered so much together. Most recently, a furious Pestilence coming out of retirement to try and shutter the world in their own way. 

It had worked as well as the rest of their plagues, though humanity was more to blame for the high case number than the former Horseperson. It had all been rather frustrating, and he'd had no one to vent his frustrations to. Which, admittedly, had been his own fault. At the first sign of trouble, Aziraphale had fallen back into old patterns.

 _“You know, I could... hunker down in your place. Slither over and watch you eat cake. Could bring a bottle- myuh - a_ case _of something... drinkable.”_

_“I-I-I-I-I’m afraid that would be breaking all the rules! Out of the question.”_

Crowley could've traveled through the phone line or teleported. The Lord knew his bookshop didn't change enough to make that dangerous or even very difficult. Crowley’s couch was always left clear in case he decided to pop in that way, the centuries' old wards knowing just which demon was welcome. When Adam Young had restored the world to a mildly different version than it had been before that very long Saturday, said demon had been the one to help him put up fresh wards. Neither angels nor demons could come into his bookshop or into Crowley’s flat in Mayfair, none but the two of them able to go back and forth as they pleased. 

But Pestilence and his own foolishness had cost him a year with Crowley. The majority of their first year on their side had been spent with the serpent napping, and Aziraphale only opening his bookshop when it was safe for humans and as an excuse to part with the excess of baked goods he'd ended up with. He'd done something similar during the Blitz, though he'd been under Heaven's oppressively watchful eye then and hadn't been able to do nearly enough. Too frivolous, they'd said. You're not on active duty, they'd said. You don't need to interfere so drastically, they'd said. 

In his upset, he'd made a foolish choice in trusting the wrong human. He'd been blind to her true intentions, and the one being who would've picked up on them immediately had been angry with him. Or so he'd assumed. 

Thoughts of that dark night in 1941 never failed to make warmth blossom in his chest. That night wherein he'd realised just how much he loved a demon and had been given no real choice but to accept the fact that he was loved just as deeply in return. He'd always known that Crowley was capable of the emotion. He'd always felt it, but it was the direction those feelings took which had always been a mystery. It had grown and grown over the millennia, and Aziraphale had assumed it was similar to his own feelings regarding the world in general. 

He and Crowley both loved the world and humanity, even at its worst. True goodness and true evil couldn't be found at their respective (former) head offices, no. It was in every single human who walked the planet She had created for them. 

He and Crowley loved one another, too. He'd known in 1941 and had struggled with it until 1967, when he'd finally admitted to his feelings with a tartan thermos and a roundabout, “You go too fast for me, Crowley.” He'd known he was understood because there had been a change. 

Not a grandiose one, no. That sort of thing couldn't happen between them, but there'd been more evenings spent in the bookshop together. There'd been less talk about work and more talk about the things Crowley had once said they had in common. There'd been wine and music and good-natured teasing. Aziraphale supposed, looking back, their proper courtship had begun in 1967. An understanding and a hope for One Day. 

A One Day which had seemed so far out of reach the night Crowley had delivered a baby to a convent. 

A One Day which had nearly been ruined by one desperate, hungry kiss between Warlock's tutors one night very close to his eleventh birthday. 

A One Day nearly ruined further by Aziraphale’s shame at the lapse, the way that shame had carried him through the days from that disastrous eleventh birthday to his own discorporation. Across a bandstand where he'd spat in Crowley’s affections, his desperate attempt to rescue him one last time. Across the limp apology, the announcement that the demon himself was now in danger. 

All Aziraphale had been able to do was forgive him. He'd forgiven him the desire to run, the cruel words he hadn't really meant, the fact that he was Fallen - as if his forgiveness could mean anything. Perhaps he'd hoped that Crowley might forgive him too - his desire to stay, the cruel words he hadn't really meant, the fact that he wasn't Fallen. How foolish of him, how nearsighted of him, to not realise Crowley already had. 

Foolish and nearsighted were still, it seemed, the perfect ways to describe him. He was a fool. An absolute, utter fool. He knew how human bodies worked. He'd been around for their _Creation_. He'd seen, though had certainly not stuck around for the entire proceedings once he’d realised how exactly, ah, intimate the scene before him had been, the first child being created. He'd watched Eve's body swell. He'd felt those first kicks. Heavens, he'd helped guide her through that first terrified birth. He knew about reproduction. 

_He_ had taught _Crowley_ about reproduction. 

It was laughable. If it wasn't so wretched, anyway. So humiliating. He wanted to weep far more than he wanted to laugh. 

It wasn't as if it was impossible either. Same original stock, angels and demons, and demons were still clearly fertile considering Adam's entire existence. He should've known. 

He should have _known_. 

But then he'd never changed his body so drastically. He'd never had these parts. Crowley changed on whims and was lovely no matter what, but that was part of him. That ability and desire to weave in and out of crowds, both the most noticeable and most forgettable being in a room, conforming but never quite the same. 

Aziraphale was static. He was stable and steady. His bookshop didn't change, and neither did he. He hadn't drastically altered his _hair_ in six thousand years, let alone anything else. He was happy being him. And Crowley was happy with him being him. 

The change had been a very rare impulse that had been thought about to distraction. He'd studied anatomy diagrams and had then made sure everything worked before he'd called Crowley and teasingly claimed that he was feeling quite alone in a locked shop and no demon to keep him and his chocolate wine sauce company. 

Everything worked, yes. 

He stared at pregnancy test number forty-two. 

Everything worked. 

\----

**Today**

He hadn't been to a doctor since discouraging them from buying deceased remains from unscrupulous sources centuries earlier. Everything was so much more sterile now. He sat in a little chair, watching children play with a wooden and wire contraption. Beads whose colours had faded with time and repeated rubbings on small fingers were guided from one metal end to another, fascinating in the patterns it took. There was surely a point to it, but Aziraphale couldn't puzzle it out. 

“Um. Mr. Fell?” a woman called from the doorway. He rose quietly, feeling exceptionally foolish and uncomfortable as he made his way across the waiting room. Expectant mothers watched with a mix of curiosity and disgust and confusion, depending on their knowledge and opinions of transgender, intersex, or otherwise expressed physical genders. 

Aziraphale wondered, as he'd been wondering since making the appointment, just what his role should be. They had his blood work from a different lab, Aziraphale unable to figure out how or even willing to try very hard to open the files he'd received in his brand new email inbox. It was all rather laughable. 

Oh, he needed to come up with a different phrase for all of this. 

He waited through being weighed, through his blood pressure being checked, and all the little human things they needed to write down and mark on their little clipboards. All he wanted was to hear from someone else that this impossible thing was happening.

He walked out with pamphlets and reassurances and a gentle reminder of “options if you don't want to keep the baby” ringing in his ears. 

_The baby_. 

He'd been avoiding thinking about it in quite that way thus far. What was he supposed to do now, thinking about it like a baby? What was he supposed to do about any of this? 

And what on Earth was he supposed to do with the demon rushing towards him. Aziraphale barely banished the paperwork before his hands were grabbed. Jaw tensely locked, Crowley looked him up and down with a terrified sort of intensity. “Where the Heaven have you been?” 

His throat clogged on the number of lies he'd been preparing, shoulders slumping instead. “Why? Have you been waiting long?” 

“I came to take you to lunch. It's been...” His head shook minutely as he thought. “Weeks.”

“It... It has been, yes.” Because food had started to make him ill, and he hadn't wanted to be seen that way. 

“Angel...” Crowley released his limp hands and took a step back, forcing his fingers into too tight pockets. “If you don't want me around-” 

“Please don't finish that silly sentence.” Aziraphale clasped his hands together tightly, gazing at him as all the nerves and discomfort and hope and fear coalesced in his gut right next to the source. Oh, no, that wasn't fair. Aziraphale looked down, taking a deep breath. It had been his doing. His mistake. Not theirs. 

“Then what's... Is it- Is it Heaven? Are they- Or are you regretting-” 

“Stop. No. I-” Oh, he should've known. They were each masters at jumping to conclusions, and it had only been a few years. A blink of time after six thousand years of repressing and denying their feelings. Displaying them only in the mildest, safest of ways. “It's something I've done. I'm keeping a secret. It has nothing to do with my love for you. Or, well, it does, but in an incredibly complicated fashion that I don’t believe should be discussed on the street.”

Crowley eyed him. Aziraphale couldn’t see his gaze without a little bit of effort, but knew him too well to not be aware of his search for the lie or the half-truth. Soon enough, he gave in with a sigh and jerked his head. “Right. You gonna tell me where you were?”

Aziraphale squeezed his own hands before looping an arm through Crowley’s, holding onto him. “Yes. Ah.” He kept his gaze carefully aimed straight ahead as they walked, the crowds of people providing comfort and anonymity. “I was visiting with a doctor.”

“Wot.”

“Please don’t stop, my dear. I’d very much like to sit whilst I share this.” It took a little tug to get those long legs moving again, a glance at him showing the way his mouth opened and closed a few times. Swallowing, Aziraphale turned his attention forward again and guided him along.

“A _human_ doctor?”

“Well, I can’t imagine I would have much use for a veterinarian.”

“Dunno what use you have with any sort of doctor. We don’t get sick, Aziraphale. We’re...” Crowley waved his free hand, the gesture a little wild and a little desperate, but it managed to convey what they were easily enough. “Were you helping them with something?”

“No, he was helping me. You know how far science has come as of late. Their anatomical knowledge is impressive.”

“Is there something wrong with your corporation? Did Adam make it so yours gets sick?” Crowley snarled. “That prick Pestilence come ‘round and sneeze on you?”

Oh, yes, excellent at jumping to conclusions. “I wouldn’t say _wrong_. As far as I can tell, and as I’ve told you before, he put me back together exactly as he ought to have done. And, no, I haven’t seen Pestilence since I gave them a proper scolding about the meaning of retirement. You were there. They didn’t sneeze on me, and it was years ago now.”

“Then what the Heaven do you need a doctor for?”

“Proof.” While Aziraphale normally didn’t hesitate to cross the street, still not used to automobiles and the speeds they tended to go, he was the one to come to a stop and check both ways before continuing on. 

“Of _what_?”

Aziraphale shrugged a little helplessly, giving him a half-smile as they approached the bookshop. The doors swung open as they reached the steps, so Aziraphale gave one a fond pat as they passed through the comforting wards and settled into safety. 

Crowley normally relaxed, but he was still tense. Especially when the angel broke away from him. “Aziraphale, _what_ did you need proof of?”

“I think I’ll make some tea,” he replied brightly, not at all subtle in the desperate way he avoided the question, and hurried back to the kitchenette. It had been made much bigger during the lengthy 2020 quarantine, the modern fixtures behind a door now as they didn’t quite fit the - what was it? - the vibrations of the rest of the bookshop. He didn’t quite know what vibrating had to do with what meshed or clashed in his shop, but he wasn’t in much hurry to find out, either.

Crowley, damn him, was apparently determined to stay in his way the entire time. He was in the way of him opening the cabinet to get his tea leaves - decaf, the doctor had said, but did he even _have_ decaffeinated tea? And then he was in the way of Aziraphale getting and then filling up his kettle, positioning himself in the way yet again when Aziraphale turned to set it on the stove.

“This isn’t going to make me speak to you any faster, Crowley. I-” A sharp fingersnap had the kettle whistling, and Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. When he opened them again, his angel wing mug was filled with steaming water. “Thank you. I know you’re anxious, dearest, but I’m alright.”

“You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, and now I hear that you went to a doctor? Which part of that says ‘alright’ to you, angel? I’m very curious.”

“As you always are.” He spooned some rooibos chai herbal tea into an infuser and dipped it into his mug. “Would you like anything? You know what I have.”

“I want you to sit the fuck down and talk to me.”

“Crowley, will you please be reasonable? I-” His back pressed against the counter when Crowley caged in him, hands grasping the edge of the counter and body pressed as close as could be with the mug between them. 

Frustration shifted to confusion and then simple annoyance, Crowley’s eyes rolling when he whisked off his sunglasses and tapped the edge to the curve of Aziraphale’s stomach. “Fuck’s sake, are you acting all odd because you’ve gained some weight? There’s nothing _wrong_ with that.” Aziraphale only stared at him for a few seconds, blinking to quell the rush of tears that promptly horrified Crowley. “ _What_? What’s- I’m sorry.” Crowley took a step back, hands held up in a way that was clearly supposed to be placating and only made Aziraphale let out a watery laugh. “ _Ssstop_ that,” Crowley hissed, at a loss. Poor dear.

Aziraphale shook his head and took a sip of tea that was polite enough to be steeped just right. “You don’t need to be sorry, my dear boy. I’m only surprised that it’s noticeable already. That you’d be able to tell.”

“Wha-” Crowley gestured to him and shoved his glasses into a pocket. “I know your body. I’ve been _in_ it. Well.” His lips quirked in his lecherous way, and Aziraphale sighed in the disapproving way that always made Crowley grin. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do. Please fix yourself a drink, Crowley. Something strong.”

Then he side-stepped him to head to his favourite armchair, settling his mug on a side table. Instead of sitting, he went to his gramophone to fuss over his record collection. What, he wondered, would work if things went wrong _or_ if they went right? He had no doubt that Crowley would be shocked, but any other reactions were up in the air. Even knowing him for nearly the entirety of the Earth’s existence, some things weren’t - and couldn’t be - known. This wasn’t the sort of discussion they’d had even once, even peripherally. 

He settled on Mozart, _La finta giardiniera_ a cheerful enough orchestral piece to buoy his mood if Crowley walked away. Because somehow, in the time since he’d walked out of that office and now, he’d made a decision.

“Angel-”

“I’m coming, dearest.” His fingers trembled a little as he lowered the needle to the record. It wasn’t an easy decision.

He could feel Crowley’s gaze on him as he finally removed his coat, glanced over to see his brow furrowed and that golden gaze locked on his stomach. His clever darling was likely only a few leaps from the right conclusion. _Lord, grant me strength_.

Aziraphale settled in his armchair, taking another sip of his tea and wishing he’d thought to grab a biscuit or two from the kitchen, but Crowley was still staring at him and gold was beginning to creep across the sclera. “When you... alter your corporation- the, ah, the physical characteristics-”

“Cock to cunt.”

Aziraphale glowered at him, pleased by the wicked quirk of lips he earned in response. Things weren’t so terrible if they still knew the steps of their dance. “If you wish to be crass about it, yes. When you do, how much do you change?”

“Dunno. Ah. Less than the first time.” He shrugged, sprawled across the couch in a way that may have been casual if not for the tension in his shoulders. “First time I went with a quim, I got a... what the Heaven do they call it now? Period. That. It was wretched, so I got rid of everything that could make that happen and I’m not keen on bringing any of it back.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale had just gotten quite the education on what a period was by a very patient doctor, so didn’t need to ask. He wished people would simply call it a menstrual cycle and, more so, he wished he’d thought more about it when he’d adjusted his corporation.

“That what happened? You started bleeding and panicked over it?”

If only. “No. I, ah... That isn’t what happened.”

Crowley took a rather large swallow of scotch, his gaze drifting down to Aziraphale’s stomach. His “oh” sounded strangled.

“I... Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t my intention to- And we’ve never discussed- It was entirely irresponsible on my part, and I-”

“Hang on, hang on.” Crowley sat up straighter, his glass clinking on the coffee table. “You need to say in very clear words what you’re saying before I get a very wrong idea.”

Aziraphale stared at his tea, listening to the strings and wishing he’d picked something else. Something far more morose. “I’m... Oh, gosh, I haven’t said it out loud yet. I’m... Well... It would, er, seem that I’m... I’m pregnant,” he told his tea.

Crowley made a sound that reminded Aziraphale of a steam engine if that steam engine was fueling a mechanical goat. Aziraphale risked a glance, found his eyes wide and golden from corner to corner, and quickly looked back at his tea. “Four months along now, I’ve been told. And...” He looked up again, mustering up some determination to hold his gaze this time. “I intend to keep it. Them. They're a little person, after all, not an object. Of course. The point is, I- I want them. This baby.”

He made another sound, the steam-powered goat falling off a bridge, and there was nothing else but the orchestra between them as Aziraphale quieted and silently drank his tea.

Eventually, Crowley rediscovered words. “How did you find out? _When_?”

“Um. Well, I _read_ , Crowley, all manner of things, and I’ve seen many movies with you. I recognised some of the, er, symptoms. I took a little human test last month.” Several of them. Too many of them. “But I...”

“You’ve known for a _month_ , and you’ve been avoiding me?”

Aziraphale winced. “I've had a suspicion for a month.”

“Sounds like you peed on a stick and confirmed your bloody suspicions a month ago and have been _avoiding_ me.”

Frowning, Aziraphale carefully swirled his tea and took another drink before he looked up. He hadn’t seen this particular array of anger and fear in Crowley’s expression since the world hadn’t ended, the coil of hurt there making him feel as though they were at the bandstand all over again. His shoulders sank. He didn't want to push his demon away as he had then. “It was my mistake. I didn’t want...”

“What? Didn’t want a half-demon in your belly? Because-”

His shoulders straightened right back up in indignation. “I didn’t want you to be angry with me for being _foolish_ with my corporation. Of all beings, _I_ should know better than to have... have been so thorough in the alterations. I didn’t even consider the consequences of having everything properly functioning. _I_ did this.”

“I was _involved_. I knew it was your first go with a cunt, angel. I could’ve warned you instead of...” He waved a hand, gaze dropping to Aziraphale’s belly again.

The angel adjusted in his seat, averting his gaze. “It isn’t your responsibility.”

“Keeping you safe is.”

“Oh, Crowley...”

He snatched up his glass again, knocking it back. “Do you not want me involved? Is that why you...”

Aziraphale set his mug aside and rose, quickly crossing to sit beside him and take one of his hands. Holding it in each of his own, he captured Crowley’s gaze with all the earnestness he could muster. “That isn’t it at all. I love you, you silly serpent.”

The glass disappeared. “You really thought I’d be angry at you?”

“Well, I certainly didn’t expect you to be chuffed. It’s... an unusual situation. And we’ve... Well, our relationship is so... It’s so important to me, Crowley. You’re so important to me. I...” He gasped when Crowley touched him, just a gentle hand on his rounding stomach. He’d always been on the rounder, softer side, and the change had been so gradual, he hadn’t really noticed it but for the need to miracle both trousers and waistcoat into continuing to fit properly. “Crowley...”

“You want me involved?”

“I won’t force you.”

“Don’t be stupid, angel. You’re too clever for that.”

Aziraphale stopped at the soft, stunningly gentle tone, steadying his breathing as he studied that familiar face, those brilliant eyes. Crowley wasn’t leaving. He was staying right on the couch, touching his stomach as if it was precious. “I want you involved. I want you to be part of all of this. They’re yours too, this baby, and I want them to know you.”

“Right. How long does it take nowadays? Before we get to hold the kid?”

Aziraphale leaned in, releasing his hand to cup his cheek. To gaze into golden eyes that were filled with such a mix of relief and love and fear and excitement. Like he'd been given the best news and didn’t know how to handle it. “Oh, Crowley... We have to wait five more months, darling,” he murmured and their lips met. He only giggled into it when Crowley grasped his waist and pulled him into his lap.

“Can’t get pregnant twice, can you?”

“At the same time?” Aziraphale smiled, head tipping back as Crowley’s mouth journeyed along the column of his throat. “No. We’ll be just fine if you’ve, ah, missed me.” He could already feel fingers pulling at his buttons. It was the best possible outcome to this announcement.

Nearly.

“You’re still taking me to lunch, aren’t you?”

Crowley laughed against his skin. “After.”

There it was. The greatest of the best possible outcomes. “Jolly good.”


	2. Seeking Competence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven & Hell catch wind of new developments, and Aziraphale's very open to trying new things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [skimmingthesurface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface), [ladydragona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona), and [Saminander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saminander/pseuds/Saminander) for cheering the loudest and giving me inspiration and some beta help.
> 
> Smut ahead. Smut actually more than half the chapter, lol. Starts at the page break and doesn't stop.

“I think your flat has the most readily available space for a nursery, don’t you? You have all those rooms you don’t use.”

Crowley kept his arm loose around Aziraphale’s waist as they walked, the warm summer evening a nice one. He hadn’t exactly been enjoying the warmer months thus far, most of May having left him fidgety and worried that he’d done something wrong. Or that something had gone wrong in Aziraphale’s fretful mind. Or that even God had poked her nose in and demanded that he ixnay the emonday. To think that it was something else entirely, that they’d created something together, was incredible.

Jarring and shocking, yes. Having a kid had never been in the cards, as far as Crowley had assumed. It had never even been a thought which had crossed his mind. Sure, he _liked_ kids. He liked them a lot, actually, and was far sadder than Aziraphale that the Them were teenagers now. At least Anathema and Newt had a kid he occasionally had a chance to, er, torment. Very demonically. 

One of his own, though? One of his own with _Aziraphale_? No, never. Not even in the realm of possibility. For six thousand years because they hadn’t even been able to hold hands in a public setting, each too wary of their bosses discovering their connection, and not for themselves. The other’s safety had always been the important thing, first as friends and then as two beings who knew just how deep the word “friend” could go.

And then outside the realm of possibility because Crowley just plain never thought about it. Simple as that, really. The world hadn’t ended, and he had his angel. They could breathe. They could ease into those things they’d both wanted and they had _eased_. Six thousand years of habit didn’t disappear in a blink, at least not with physical boundaries. Nights spent at the bookshop, days spent together - easy. They’d segued into that almost immediately before Pestilence had decided to be a bitch. After Crowley’s very long nap, they’d segued right back into being in one another’s pockets. And then into hand holding. Soft touches they didn’t acknowledge across a table, fingers brushing on walks in the park. Deliberate touches across a table they acknowledged with questioning looks and relieved smiles, fingers lacing on walks in the park.

The first kiss had been something of an accident. An overdue picnic in the park, the summer sun leaving Crowley pleasantly drowsy. Aziraphale had been leaning over him, shaking his shoulder to wake him, and his mouth had been _right there_ and Crowley had tilted his head. Just a soft brush, little more than a tease. The _hint_ of a kiss. As kiss adjacent as LaCroix was to fruit, honestly, but it had still jolted him wide awake. The second kiss, heartbeats after the first, had been much more deliberate.

Sex had taken a little longer still to work up to so, no, pregnancy had not been a blip on Crowley’s radar. Out of the billions of things he worried about on a day to day basis, a _baby_ was not one. Astounding, really.

But there it was, growing and rounding an already beautifully plump belly. Crowley gave him a fond squeeze. “You’d have to spend a lot more time at my flat. Think you could handle being apart from your books?”

“I could handle being away from _some_ of my books, of course. It isn’t as if I was able to take all of my collection around with me whenever I had to leave the bookshop on assignment. I have a selection of favourites. And you, I’ll remind you, have _several_ empty rooms in your flat.”

“S’pose I do. It’s better for moving fast. Hell wouldn’t have been supportive of me having _stuff_ I liked lying all around, out in the open for them to be jealous of.” And he’d been just fine with only a few souvenirs. Having a clean space, somewhere so entirely different from Hell, had been a priority. It still was, though he’d welcome Aziraphale’s warm clutter. He’d already welcomed a few bits and bobs - new furniture in his lounge and angel wing mugs in his kitchen cupboards. They could add a crib and whatever else a baby would need.

And bookshelves in other rooms for his partner’s needs. 

His beautiful, pregnant, very very still partner.

Crowley stilled as well, following his gaze to the Bentley and the two beings waiting beside it. _Beside_ and not _in_ , he noted with some satisfaction. Since Hastur’s disgusting self had defiled the passenger seat, Aziraphale had helped him ward the car just as they’d done for the Mayfair flat and the bookshop. His grip on the angel tightened, Crowley ready to push him back if need be.

“Thought I told you to leave me alone,” he snarled at Beelzebub.

Aziraphale’s chin lifted. “And I do believe I made my position quite clear last I saw you, Gabriel.”

The Archangel before them grinned, eyes twinkling as his hands spread in a peaceful gesture. “Now, now, Aziraphale, you’re getting your wish. We’re meeting on a better occasion.”

Beelzebub’s smile was a weak baring of teeth, as if they couldn’t be bothered. “Heard you knocked up the angel, traitor.”

Aziraphale stiffened in his hold, and Crowley shifted him a hair closer. “Where,” Aziraphale demanded, “might you have heard such a preposterous thing as that?”

“Aziraphale.” Gabriel pursed his lips, looking cheerfully reprimanding. “You know we have records of all new life on Earth. Not to mention definitive incoming life. You _want_ some half-demon spawn?” he asked, chuckling. 

Aziraphale’s hands lifted protectively to his belly, Crowley close enough to feel the way he trembled. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Gabriel flicked up a finger, ready to make another point, but Beelzebub had run out of patience. “It iz when you ztole the Antichrizt from uz,” they said in their bored way. “We thought you’d appreziate the fairnezz.”

Snarling, fangs sliding over his lower lip, Crowley stepped in front of Aziraphale. He hadn’t been built to fight the way his angel had been, but he wasn’t going to lie down. “You’re not touching our kid.”

“Well. We’ll just have to see about that, I suppose,” Gabriel replied and Crowley felt them before they appeared. He grabbed Aziraphale’s hand, the Bentley’s doors flying open and bowling Gabriel over, the Archangel doubling over. More shocked than hurt, really.

Crowley pushed Aziraphale into the car and squeezed in after him, the doors swinging shut and the tires squealing as they spun and shot them forward. Crowley twisted to see Hastur and Uriel on the pavement where they’d been standing. Aziraphale saw them in the rearview mirror, shivering as he rubbed gentle circles over his stomach. He didn’t stop rubbing until they were outside of the bookshop, both of them looking around thoroughly and Crowley taking the time to sense any presences before he opened the door and ushered Aziraphale out. Their hands gripping tight, they hurried across the crowded streets and into the closed shop.

Safe behind a locked door and wards, Aziraphale let out a gasping breath and buried his face in his hands. Crowley yanked him into a tight embrace, rubbing his back to soothe. “They won’t touch our kid, angel. I promise. I _promise_.”

“No, no, I shouldn’t- They were leaving us alone. They’ve left us alone for so long.”

Six years wasn't _so long_ , but it seemed that way. Being separated from them had been such a huge, sudden weight just _gone_. Each and every day without that was a miracle. “I know,” Crowley mumbled into his curls, feeling Aziraphale’s fingers curl into his blazer. 

“I should’ve known better than to- Oh, I should’ve known better than to let any of this happen. We can’t keep the baby.”

“Shut up,” Crowley croaked, pulling him that much closer, feeling that firm bump against his stomach. “Don’t say that.”

“But they want to take-”

“We won’t let them.” Crowley cupped his cheeks, their lips joining in desperation. “We won’t let them, Aziraphale.”

“But they know where we live. Even if they can’t get in, what shall we do? Trap ourselves in here? And the baby when they’re born? What kind of a life is that, Crowley?”

“We’ll move. And there are ways to make ourselves invisible to them. They did it with the bloody Antichrist. We can do it for each other.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. We figured out Agnes’s prophecy, didn’t we? Bless it, angel, you figured out her whole fucking book in one night. We can _do_ this.”

Aziraphale pressed his face into Crowley’s shoulder, and he held him tighter. The way he’d wanted to during Armageddon. They way he _could_ now. “Oh, Crowley...”

He stroked those soft white-blond curls, trying to pretend his heart wasn’t trying to tear itself into pieces. “Do you want our baby, Aziraphale?”

“Yes.”

“Then, please, let’s figure out how to keep them safe.” The baby may not have been a blip on Crowley’s radar before, but they were there now. They were growing in Aziraphale’s accidentally functioning womb, and he wasn’t going to lose them to Heaven and especially not to Hell. He wasn’t going to let Aziraphale lose them either. They’d waited too long to have what they had. “I’m saying please and everything. You can’t say no.”

Aziraphale pressed close, not speaking for a long moment. Crowley could practically hear his busy mind turning over every single worst-case scenario his fretful self could conceive of and, well, Crowley’s mind was doing the exact same thing. But he clutched at that best-case scenario as tightly as he could and, eventually, he felt a nod against his shoulder. 

“Let’s figure out some sort of plan, sweet. We’ll have to be competent this time.”

“Well, one of us can’t drink, so I think we’re already at a better starting point than we were last time we agreed to raise a kid.”

Aziraphale smiled. It was a small thing, but it was there, and it was all Crowley needed.

\----

A very large issue with attempting to hide themselves from Heaven and Hell was the unfortunate side effect of harming one another. A bracelet of apotropaic symbols would keep Aziraphale safe from Hell, sure, but it also made Crowley’s fingers burn uncomfortably when he reached for his partner and wouldn't keep him safe from Heaven. 

Crowley could wear an upside-down cross on his silver chain, but Aziraphale would lose track of him and it wouldn't keep him safe from Hell. 

An angel-banishing sigil would only work for a few hours and, unless Aziraphale drew it, he'd disappear from Crowley's side. 

There were no known sigils which would bar both angels _and_ demons from seeing a place existed and any attempts to simultaneously draw one of each blinded the building from both Aziraphale and Crowley. They had no idea where the coffee shop down the corner was now, and Aziraphale really had enjoyed their cinnamon rolls. He'd been trying very hard to get their recipe.

It was one of his many cravings, something Crowley was handling wonderfully. He never failed to order takeaway when Aziraphale so much as mentioned some sort of food, and they were very careful in how they took and then studied the deliveries to ensure no demons or angels had intercepted it on the way. In the month they’d tucked themselves into the bookshop, they’d seen at least one demon or angel wandering the streets outside the windows nearly every day. Just waiting for them to leave, to slip up. 

Aziraphale wanted so badly to take a walk in the sun. He didn’t voice this complaint or his wonderings over whether or not their ducks missed them, not when Crowley was being such a dear. He was even reading some of Aziraphale’s books between research on his mobile telephone. Aziraphale had stopped miracling his dear old waistcoat as his belly grew rounder, the baby inside growing quick and strong and healthy. He hoped. There couldn’t be another visit to the doctor with them being watched so closely. The journey to the coffee shop had been stressful enough.

During a research break, he laid himself back into the corner of the couch. It let him stretch out more comfortably, the weight of his stomach not exactly unpleasant but more than he was used to. He’d had this body - sort of - for a very long time, and he was very used to it. He was not used to this. He wasn’t used to being _itchy_ either. Frowning, he unbuttoned his shirt and carefully rubbed over the spots that itched. He didn’t want to scratch, wary of making the sensation worse, but new stretch marks were beginning to form. Gold like all the rest, little spots of divinity peeking through. 

Crowley rounded the corner with a book in hand, but stopped mid-sentence when he saw his partner sprawling across the blue blanket. Humming, he set the book on the coffee table and took his spot on the red blanket before leaning over. He captured Aziraphale’s hands, kissing either palm before his lips began to follow the curve of his belly.

“Crowley,” he sighed.

“Itching, angel?”

“Mm... And my back hurts.” Crowley’s hands slipped beneath him to free his shirt from the confines of his trousers and let his knuckles work over Aziraphale’s lower back. “Oh...”

Smiling, Crowley settled his chin atop his stomach and watched him melt under the firm attention. “Pretty thing,” he murmured, earning a smile even though Aziraphale’s eyes didn’t open. “Such a beautiful angel, all rounded and soft and filled with our baby.”

Aziraphale mumbled something, hands blindly sliding into Crowley’s hair. The demon’s hands slid up to stroke his belly and gently caress his hips since they tended to get just as achy as his lower back. His trousers unhooked with a thought, sliding down enough to let Crowley’s fingers find skin. 

“You know what I’d like very much to be filled with?” Aziraphale murmured. 

“Some demon?”

“ _My_ demon.” Chuckling, said demon eased back to get them rearranged so Aziraphale’s legs were stretched across the cushions and Crowley between them. Lower, though, than expected. “Crowley?”

“Feeling a little peckish here, angel.” Both trousers and the pants beneath them were banished to Aziraphale’s favourite armchair, folded as neatly as the angel would’ve expected, but they left the soft mound and its dusting of white curls bare. Crowley trailed a finger down the outer lips, looking up to watch pale lashes flutter. “Don’t mind, do you?”

“You’re just trying to... to keep me from moving too much.”

“Clever angel. Can’t fool you,” he teased, getting firmly nudged by Aziraphale’s knee. “Do you want my mouth anyway?”

Aziraphale paused to consider it, looking and reaching down. His fingers tangled in dark red hair, his tug light and teasing. “Will you fork your tongue?”

It spilled out of his mouth, longer than a human’s ought to be and very much forked at the end. Aziraphale’s hips wiggled, a gasp escaping when Crowley’s finger slipped between the slick folds at the move. “Oh-! Mm. Mmhm. You already eat so little. I would so- so hate for you to abstain when you’re hungry.”

Crowley pressed a smiling kiss to his inner thigh, letting teasing teeth graze over the soft flesh. Neither of them stretched the couch for once, so he had no room to escape. He didn’t want it, head pressing back against the armrest as Crowley’s fingers busied themselves elsewhere. They stroked his inner folds with a teasing gentleness, the featherlight pressure making Aziraphale want to shift down and get more, more, _more_. But Crowley lifted his other leg and hefted it over his shoulder, rendering any such movements nearly impossible. He could really only shift side to side, which did nothing to increase the pressure and everything to make that dastardly demon chuckle against his thigh.

“Oh, Crowley, please,” he whined, gasping when Crowley used his thumbs to open him. He couldn’t see over his stomach from this angle, the anticipation alone making him whimper. The touch of that forked tongue, his clit trapped between those wiggling ends, made him moan. He may have made the nub a little too sensitive, but it was difficult to complain when the attention wet and opened him so readily for his lover. He writhed against the blankets, gasps and pleas spilling into the air.

They rang in Crowley’s ears, singing down his spine. He didn’t know what it was about having that big belly in the way of being able to watch Aziraphale’s face as he fell apart, only able to hear his enjoyment and feel it in the squeeze of his thighs and the slick coating his own chin, but it did things to him. New, kinky things. He liked him big and soft anyway, but this was something new and possessive. 

Something that made his love for Aziraphale swell, heart as full as he intended to make his angel feel. A finger slipped inside easily, Aziraphale’s hips swaying deliciously, his whine music, and Crowley’s other hand slid up to cup that rounded stomach. The tines of his tongue squeezed around his clit just as a second finger breached him, and those wet muscles spasmed around the digits in the first release of many.

That first night, he'd been sure to show Aziraphale all the positives involved in having a quim until he'd been oversensitive and quivering, soaked and full. It was really no wonder he’d ended up pregnant, the fertility of demons not really in question considering the existence of the occasional nephilim and, well, Adam Young. Angels, too, after the unfortunate debacle with Samyaza. Gabriel may have been told to deal with that chaos, but he hadn’t gone alone and Crowley still remembered the aftermath. He and Aziraphale had both spent several weeks passing too much wine back and forth.

Crowley had desperately wanted to hug him, to hold onto him and tell him he was Heaven’s best angel. But he also hadn’t wanted to remind him that he was drinking with a demon when so many angels had just been freshly sent to join Hell’s ranks. To be here now, between his legs with the proof of past intimacy under his hand, was beyond any dream.

To have him there, not Fallen and whole, was astounding. This thing between them that everyone called wrong _wasn't_. This attack against them was just desperation, two sides trying in vain to prove that they were right. But they weren't. Nothing that felt like this could be wrong. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed, rocking his hips on the wave of feelings that washed over him. “Oh, I love you too, darling.” His hand fell onto Crowley’s on his belly, their fingers tangling. And then squeezed when his tongue flicked down those slick inner lips to breach him. “Ah-!” 

Aziraphale’s babbling praise and claims of love slid over Crowley as heavily as the actual love did his angel. He could feel the lust cresting, which always helped him know just what to keep doing and what to change, and this was definitely something his lover wanted more of. 

Eager, Crowley let his tongue thicken. The two forked tines moved independently of one another, playing with the velvet walls as they flexed in his pleasure. One finger moved up to tease his clit and one of the ones still buried deep curled to find that spongy little spot that made him _wail_. Release spilled over his tongue and over his chin, Crowley greedily swallowing what he could and not pausing his ministrations even as Aziraphale began to whine and writhe from sheer sensitivity. 

It was overwhelming, Aziraphale feeling himself closing around his swollen tongue and wicked fingers again and again. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he couldn't keep his hips still. “Crowley- Crowley, dearest, please, it's so- Oh, oh, _oh_!” 

Aziraphale’s hand found dark red hair, tugged at the coif to hear Crowley’s muffled groan. He shuddered, knowing just what was muffling him, and whimpered helplessly as he was dragged unrelentingly to peak again. 

“You're so much more sssensitive right now,” Crowley marveled, tongue mostly back in his own mouth. Until it slid lower, following the trail of slick to his puckered rim. 

Aziraphale groaned at the teasing flick of tongue. “How- how snake-like are you planning to go?” 

Crowley stilled, cock somehow growing even harder in his trousers. “ _Fuck_ , angel.”

“Yes?”

His wonderful hedonist was going to be the death of him. Crowley lifted up to actually see his expression, finding him pink-cheeked and wide-eyed. His pupils had nearly swallowed the blue, arousal taking them over. “Do you _want_ two?” 

Aziraphale hummed. It wasn't something he'd asked for before, not bluntly at least. Crowley had very drunkenly mentioned once that his Effort could double if he didn't pay attention, just another effect of his serpentine nature. And then again that first night Aziraphale had altered his own Effort, it had been one of the many filthy things he'd babbled in Aziraphale’s ear during one of several orgasms. 

_“You're being so good, angel, taking me so well. Wager you could take both if I asked. Bet you'd love it.”_

It was hardly a wonder it had been on his mind since. Aziraphale bit his lip, hips lifting in an offering that made Crowley wet already very slick lips. “I do have rather welcoming anatomy for it, don't I? To take all of you?” 

Crowley slowly lifted his gaze, following Aziraphale’s curves - both familiar and new. “It won't be too rough for you?” 

“Oh, sweet.” Aziraphale’s gaze softened. “Are you ever?” 

Crowley grasped his wrists as he pitched forward, pressing their hands to either side of his head and fusing their lips together. Aziraphale whined into his mouth, those too-tight denims scraping over his sensitive mons, and then they were gone. Every scrap of fabric between them vanished as Crowley kissed him, tongue sweeping in to feed Aziraphale the taste of himself.

Whimpering, Aziraphale bucked his hips and felt two shafts dripping onto the soft curls. “Mm!” 

“ _Ffsh_.”

Aziraphale turned his head to break the kiss, Crowley's lips gliding across his jawline. “I want to see them.”

The couch finally stretched, Crowley shifted to the side so Aziraphale could get a very good look at what was being offered. It put him in reach, too, Crowley's groan almost musical when Aziraphale stroked one and then the other, as fascinated by them as he was the smattering of scales appearing over his thighs. He had to touch those as well, finding them smooth and cool under his fingertips. “Aziraphale...”

“You're beautiful, dearest. My wonderful serpent. Are they always side by side or can they rearrange?” 

“I can make them however the fuck I want, angel. I'm a demon.”

Aziraphale smiled at the raggedness of his tone. “So you are. Then why-?” 

“You said you're comfortable on your side right now, yeah?” Crowley slid back down between his legs, Aziraphale not arguing when he was gently rolled onto his side. It _did_ feel better when the weight got to be too much. Lying down wasn't a position he was used to anyway, not one for sleeping before all this baby nonsense, so trying to find a comfortable angle was a constant problem for him. 

He should've known there'd be no problem with Crowley guiding him. He bent one of Aziraphale’s legs, spreading him open, and he only whined when fingers delved in. He was still wet, the _squelch_ sound causing Crowley to hum in satisfaction. 

“Oh, darling, please-” 

“I know, angel. My pretty dove.” He ducked back down, and Aziraphale moaned when the tines of his forked tongue tickled his rim. “Want?” 

“ _Yes_.”

He couldn't help the jolt when that wicked tongue pushed its way in without further warning. It pulsed larger and flexed and writhed, the dexterity impossible and the pleasure it wrought neverending. And it wasn't as if Aziraphale had gotten _rid_ of certain things when he'd swapped his sex organs. Fingers curled to find the g-spot in his quim, and that wicked tongue rubbed against the prostate in his arse. Aziraphale shouted his ecstacy towards the bookshelves, lost in the way it felt to have both holes played with. Filled, but not nearly enough. He tried to push down, but the angle and his own belly made it difficult to get what he wanted that way. 

“Crowley- Oh, Crowley, dearest, please- Please, sweet, please-” 

Crowley lifted up, taking hold of Aziraphale’s bent leg to lift it higher, Aziraphale’s breath catching as he felt himself opening wider, a subtle aid to his corporation's flexibility letting Crowley hook that leg over his shoulder. “Want them?” 

“Oh- Oh, I do. I- _Crowley_!” he called, eyes closing as one of those cocks buried itself in his dripping quim. He was so full, spasming around his length as Crowley thrust shallowly. “Crowley,” he whimpered. It wasn't quite enough yet. “Crowley, my darling demon.”

“Yeah, yes, I know, angel. I know. Just wanted to get this one nice and wet first.”

“Get-” He gasped when Crowley's hips pulled back, leaving him empty again. Until that length was pressed against the other entrance, his rim stretching to accommodate its girth. This slide was far slower, and there was something beautifully filthy about knowing the slide was eased by his own fluids. A finger rubbed against his clit as his arse was filled, Aziraphale pressing his cheek against the blanket and just letting his corporation release again. He could feel the wet pool over his own thigh, but the sounds Crowley made as he clenched around his length overrode any sense of ick. 

When he was halfway in, he paused long enough that Aziraphale opened his eyes and looked up. “My dear?” 

“You're really sure you want both?” 

Aziraphale released the blanket, reached out to take, squeeze his hand. “I want everything you have. All that you are.”

Crowley leaned forward and lifted Aziraphale’s palm to his lips. “Sap,” he accused. 

“Yes. Now, please, keep going. No more second thoughts, darling, unless you don't want to do this.”

“I want this. I want you, angel, all the way.” Crowley released his hand to grasp the second cock and lined it up to press into his soaked quim. Those pink lips spread easily for him, as easily as Aziraphale’s moaning mouth. He came like that, half-filled by two shafts, Crowley groaning at the dual sensation. He'd never felt it before. He'd fucked his own fists and, as his spine was more of a suggestion, had gotten his own mouth around one at a time. But this? 

This was going to discorporate him, he was sure, and he was going to enjoy it. They both were. He leaned forward, bent over Aziraphale so a hand could slide into those white-blond curls and _grip_. Aziraphale writhed beneath him, encouraging Crowley to move his hips forward again. Inch by inch stretched and filled each hole, the slide broken only by Aziraphale’s helpless releases. His blue eyes were so dark, so dazed when he turned his head and looked up. 

Crowley pressed closer, filled him completely, and leaned down to catch his lips and swallow his breathless praise. Then he fed Aziraphale his own. “You're perfect,” rumbled out, Aziraphale shuddering. “All that soft heat around me... It's jussst right,” he continued, encouraged as he always was by Aziraphale’s reactions. “You feel so good, angel. Aziraphale.” 

There was a special sort of intimacy in hearing his name, the reminder that the compliments were truly for him alone. Praise of any sort had never easily come to Aziraphale, but Crowley spilled sweet filth like a fountain and it never failed to swell his heart and pulse between his legs. “C-crowley...”

“Tell me, Aziraphale. My beautiful angel. How does it feel? Do you like it? Do you like being good enough to take both?” 

“I-” He nodded helplessly, tried to wiggle his hips, but only clenched greedily. “So- I'm full. I'm so very- I feel you _everywhere_. I- _ah_!”

He cried out, back arcing when Crowley’s finger returned to his clit, and he clenched and spasmed through another release, listening to Crowley’s heated murmurs of how beautiful he was, how well he took it, how tight he was. Then Crowley took his hand and brought it down, letting him feel where Crowley had him split open.

“If you weren't already ssso ssswollen with my baby, I'd make it happen tonight. Breed my pretty angel.”

“Oh-” That wasn't something he'd thought could arouse him, but a fresh gush of fluid proved him very wrong. “Sw-swollen, yes.”

Crowley dragged his hand up so both of them could trace the curve of his belly. “Mine,” he growled. 

His eyes were fully golden, black scales painting his throat and the slope of his shoulders. “Yours,” Aziraphale agreed. “Both yours. S'feels incredible, darling, just like this. But please move. Please.”

Crowley so rarely lost quite this much control of his corporation that the bite of claws and prick of sharp fangs against his shoulder and throat weren't things Aziraphale was entirely used to. He'd been built to withstand quite a bit of abuse as a Principality and it was Crowley’s claws, Crowley’s fangs, Crowley’s cocks thrusting, thrusting, _thrusting_ , so it didn't frighten him. If anything, Aziraphale felt _safer_. He didn't _need_ a big, bad demon to protect him, but he _had_ one. He and their baby. 

Aziraphale came again, the brief wondering of how many times now laughable. This one didn't stop, though, body contracting again and again as Crowley fucked him through the spasms. As his finger relentlessly moved over the sensitive clit. He couldn't take anything else, he couldn't, but suddenly he was even wetter and his lover was shouting, hissing, groaning his dual release. 

Aziraphale’s world simply went dark. 

When he came to again, he was still stuffed full, dripping around the cock in his soaked cunt, but Crowley’s hand was caressing his raised thigh and his rounded belly with claw-free hands. The kisses and murmurs pressed along his throat and up to his hairline were sweet and soft. 

“Crowley?” 

“M'sorry,” he immediately replied, Aziraphale able to feel the relieved shudder down to his toes. He really was very sensitive like this. “Didn't mean to- Ngk. Wasn't meant to go that hard, dove. I lost control there and-” 

“I loved it.”

Crowley’s hiss was like a semi coming to a stop.

“I mean it. It was wonderful, darling. I want a soak in the tub for a good while, I think, and we certainly shouldn't do that every time, but it was _marvelous_. It still feels lovely.” He stretched a bit, enjoying the way Crowley quivered against him. The gentle caresses didn't stop, either, so Aziraphale let his eyes close on a soft sigh. “You'll take care of me.”

He very deliberately didn't phrase it as a question, letting Crowley know nothing about his feelings had changed. It was a subtle _I trust you_ , and he knew it was understood when he felt the smiling kiss pressed to his shoulder. “Someone has to. You're a disaster when left alone, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled. “It's a very good thing we've got you, then, isn't it?” 

The fingers on his belly flexed, Crowley blowing out a shuddering breath. “Yeah, you do. You both do.”


	3. An Exchange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An angel and a demon get a little help from some friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [skimmingthesurface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skimmingthesurface/pseuds/skimmingthesurface), [ladydragona](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydragona/pseuds/ladydragona), and [Saminander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saminander/pseuds/Saminander) for cheering the loudest and giving me inspiration and some beta help.

“We should call the witch and her bloke.”

Aziraphale looked up from his book, quill hovering over the paper by his side. It, coincidentally, was also hovering as he’d taken over the couch. “The Pulsifers?”

“Yup.” Crowley had his long legs kicked over the side of Aziraphale’s favourite armchair, confusing the poor thing with his inability to sit properly.

“My dear, why on Earth would we need to bother them? You and I are intelligent beings who know more about demons and angels than any simple human simply by the fact that we _are_ a demon and an angel.”

“We’ve also been at this a month and have nothing.” It wasn't completely accurate and he knew it, holding up a hand to stop the inevitable correction. “I know there are ideas, and I know we’ve eliminated a lot of bad ones. We’re too close to the problem, though, and all of our new ideas are just plays on the old ones. And there’s absolutely no way for us to test half of them on anyone outside without putting one or all of us at risk.”

Aziraphale hummed as he closed his book, hands settling on his stomach. He hadn’t felt them kicking and rolling wildly yet, but he knew they were busy. Their baby was a mobile little thing and, every single day, they were in danger. Of course he was doing everything he could to minimize that danger. Every single idea he had was jotted down and, well, too many had the word _sigil_ attached for his comfort. Too many suggested using the original enochian in some sort of circle to ward everyone away from them. All of their solutions revolved around buildings when buildings weren’t really the issue. They could hide in a building safely or they wouldn’t have been able to stay in the bookshop as long as they had. It was their corporations themselves which needed the protection and that was far more difficult a problem to solve.

And Crowley was certainly right. There was no one who could be closer to the issue at hand than the two of them.

“What could they do which we haven’t considered?”

“Dunno. Sort of the point in calling them, isn’t it? They’re the cleverest humans we know, angel. Book Girl’s a fine witch and her bloke was smart enough to figure out who the Antichrist was and all without anyone else helping him.” The story had come out during one of their visits, Aziraphale too curious for his own good sometimes. Not that Crowley hadn’t wanted to know too, keen to figure out how a technologically inept, awkward string bean like Newt had gotten mixed up in the end of the world.

“I know...” He sighed. “I just don’t want to get them involved in something dangerous. They have their own child to worry about, Crowley. And even if the angels ignore them, the demons certainly won’t.” Though he supposed if they stocked up on holy water...

“They don’t have to come here,” Crowley pointed out. “We’ll do one of those video chats.”

Aziraphale looked over at him, the phone already in his hand and brows arched expectantly. At the absolute least, it would be nice to have a different perspective. And to, perhaps, have someone who might be a little pleased that he and Crowley were expecting. “Well...”

The door slammed open and Aziraphale winced, quill and paper falling to the floor as Crowley rolled himself out of the chair. “Stay there.”

“My dear-”

“ _Stay_.” Crowley’s sunglasses appeared on his nose. “That door was locked.”

Aziraphale pushed himself up, smoothing his hands down his shirt to make sure he was all buttoned up and clothed appropriately. Ignoring Crowley’s request that he stay as he was, he pushed himself off the couch to fetch his coat from the rack and shrugged it on. He didn’t feel quite complete without his waistcoat, but accepted that the braces would just have to do. 

He straightened his bow tie as familiar voices finally reached his ears and his shoulders could relax. Oh, goodness. He bustled around the corner to, “-dunno who the demons are from the angels sometimes. Dog growls at them all, though.”

“Hellhounds are raised to bite the hand that feeds them, so I don’t think any of them have any particular fondness for demons over angels,” Crowley pointed out, Aziraphale relieved to see him staying away from the open door.

Pepper closed and locked it before turning towards the demon, arms folded and chin lifted. She was every bit as ornery as she’d been at eleven. “Dog doesn’t bite Adam. Or any of us.”

“You lot do a sight more than just feed him, though, don’t you?”

Any agreement to this was halted abruptly when Brian, sweet but ever tactless blurted, “Whoa, Mr. Aziraphale, what happened to your belly?!” Pepper promptly punched him in the shoulder. “Hey!”

“You don’t just _ask_ things like that.”

Adam sighed, shaking his head at them. Being a former Antichrist had given him quite a bit of unshakeable worldly knowledge and insight that hadn’t left nearly as easily as what powers he’d forfeited. “You’re pregnant.”

“Adam!” Pepper protested.

Crowley peered out the windows with more than just his eyes, searching for anyone who may have seen the quartet enter the bookshop. “He’s fine. They both are. Asking questions is the only way to get answers.”

“And to that end, yes, I’m expecting. That’s what’s happened to my body.” Aziraphale folded his hands over his rounded stomach, taking his gaze over the teenagers. “Now how on Earth did you all make it here?”

Brian brightened and stopped dramatically rubbing his shoulder. “Wensley’s got a car now.”

“Actually, it’s my father’s car. It isn’t mine until I finish paying him back for it. With interest,” he added with a nod firm enough that it necessitated he push his glasses back up his nose. “Properly, of course.”

“Anyway, he’s got a car and I had money for petrol,” Adam explained. “But if Crowley here got you pregnant-”

“Sure did,” Crowley said with no small amount of pride. Aziraphale had to smile at him.

“Right. Then that must be why Tadfield’s been invaded.”

The smile slipped away. “Invaded?”

“Nobody else has really noticed. They think they’re all tourists, but I can see what they really are.”

For having been eleven at the time, Adam had been quite clever in what he’d kept when renouncing Satan as his rightful father. Aziraphale nodded and gestured behind him, the mess of food containers and books and ink clearing itself away. “I see. Come sit, my dears. Tea?”

“Yes, please,” the chorus of four rang out, but it was Crowley who made his way towards the kitchen to put the kettle on. 

“Thank you, dearest.”

“Shut up.”

They scattered themselves in different chairs and on an ottoman, knowingly avoiding both Crowley’s sofa and Aziraphale’s armchair. Not wanting to disrupt them too much, he made his way to his seat and sank down with a small sigh. 

“Congratulations,” Pepper offered, Aziraphale beaming at her. Yes, it did feel rather nice to have someone be happy for them. “How far along are you then?”

“Five months now. Though we only recently made the discovery.”

“A month ago?” Adam asked, nodding at Aziraphale’s agreement. “Right. That’s when they started coming to Tadfield. I think they’re looking for me, but Dog and I’ve been able to avoid them. When we thought to come 'round, I left Dog with mum and dad, so they’ve got protection.”

“Any canine willing to bite a Horseperson will certainly have no trouble with upset occult and ethereal beings.”

Adam grinned. “I thought so.”

“I’m terribly sorry they’ve been wreacking havoc, though.” Aziraphale’s brows drew together as he leaned back, relinquishing his posture for the baby’s sake. Or that’s certainly what he told himself. It had nothing to do with the dull ache in the small of his back. “I didn’t imagine they would. I believed it was just us they were irritating.”

“S’alright. They still can’t find me, and they’ve got no idea who the gang is.”

Crowley carried in an angel wing mug, four tartan-patterned mugs shooting off to the teenagers. The darling showoff. Aziraphale took his mug and the offered kiss with a smile, only shaking his head when Crowley perched on the arm of the chair instead of draping himself over his couch. “Thank you, sweet,” he cooed, as much to embarrass him as to amuse himself. 

“Shut up.”

“Anyway, they’ve been hanging ‘round us a lot and I thought it had something to do with you, so we came to see what was wrong.” Adam nodded firmly. “To see if we could help.”

Pepper nodded just as firmly, Adam’s right hand woman to the last. “What’s it have to do with your baby?”

Aziraphale didn’t quite know how to answer, grip tightening on his mug as he thought about what exactly to say. They’d stopped an Apocalypse as children, yes, but they weren’t quite adults yet either. This wasn’t the sort of thing they should have any involvement in at all, really, though guilt gnawed at him. If they’d been more focused on things outside of their own bubble, they would’ve known Tadfield was under Heaven and Hell’s ire.

Crowley had no such qualms. A tumbler of scotch appeared in his hand so he could gesture at the former Antichrist with it. “Since they blame us for you stopping the war, they want to take our kid. Like some fucked up trade.”

“ _Crowley_ ,” Aziraphale admonished, unsurprised when his only response was an eyeroll. 

“That’s wretched!” Brian gasped.

“Actually, it is. Completely wretched,” Wensleydale agreed, setting his mug down in indignation. “It’s kidnapping!”

Adam frowned, thumb rubbing against the side of his mug. “Right. So you must be safe in here. That’s why you haven’t left, right? And why the door was harder to open than normal.”

“I’m afraid so,” Aziraphale sighed. They were good, clever young persons. “There are only a few places we’re safe in, and the risk of journeying across them is too great. We’ve been, ah, seeking avenues of hiding ourselves from their sight.”

“Like me.”

“Like you, Adam, yes.”

“Do they know what your safe places are?” Pepper asked, eyeing Crowley peculiarly.

He eyed her right back, curious and quietly amused. “Yup. We were about to call the witch and get her opinion.”

Adam perked up immediately. “Brilliant! Anathema would know. She says good and evil aren’t as different as you think, so the ways to hide from them aren’t either. She gave the gang special amulets.”

“Amulets?”

“Hang on,” Pepper interrupted, pointing at Crowley. “Are you really drinking that?”

He swallowed his sip with a raise of his brow. “Unless there’s a new word for it that I don’t know, yup.”

“A little selfish, isn’t it, continuing to have alcohol when your pregnant partner can’t.”

That self-righteous tone could give Aziraphale a run for his money, Crowley decided, and took another deliberate swallow. “Demon,” he reminded her, gesturing at himself. 

“A demon in a committed relationship.” Undeterred, she lifted her chin. “I can send you studies on the difficulties in maintaining a happy relationship when one partner proves themselves far more selfish than the other. Did you know that’s part of why the boyfriend sweater curse is so prevalent? Usually, the breakup occurs because the knitter put all their time and energy into presenting the non-knitter with a gift that was then ignored and underappreciated.”

Behind the safety of his sunglasses, he chanced a look down at Aziraphale to see him struggling in vain to hide his broad grin. Bastard. “This isn’t a knit sweater.”

“No, it’s much more important,” Pepper agreed, and he nearly grinned himself. Clever brat. “A baby takes even more time and energy into creating, and you’re not sharing in the process in a way that shows Aziraphale respect.”

“Gosh, Crowley, you don't respect me?” 

Crowley pushed his sunglasses down enough to make eye contact, then very deliberately took a drink. Though Pepper scowled at him, arms folding, Aziraphale couldn’t quite smother his giggles. His demon wouldn’t be bullied into anything, but Aziraphale also knew full well that this was likely to be the last alcoholic drink Crowley had until Aziraphale poured a glass for the pair of them. Post birth. “Thank you, my dear girl, really. Shall we focus on the matter at hand, however, before delving into the intricacies of relationships? Yes, Brian?”

His hand, which he’d lifted for attention, lowered again. “Are you married?”

Crowley choked on his scotch, vanishing it, and Aziraphale smiled beatifically. These menacing treasures. “We are partners in our own way. Now, Adam, please. What were you saying about amulets? We have tried wearing a few traditional wards, but I’m afraid they’ve... Well, they’ve not gone to plan.”

“Hang on, I’m calling Anathema. Hey,” he said a moment later. “Yeah, it’s me. Hang on. I’m gonna- No, everybody’s fine. We’re actually in Soho.”

Her shout of “ _Soho?!_ ” could be heard clearly throughout the room before Adam pressed a button on his screen. Her voice floated out over the speakerphone. “What are you four doing in Soho? Did you take Wensley’s car? You know his dad’s going to kill him.”

“Actually, that’s very unlikely as my father would not do well in prison. He’s very even tempered.” Wensleydale paused. “He may ground me, though. But Adam paid for the petrol.”

“Right. I’m on speaker?”

“You are now. Hello,” Brian greeted.

“We’re visiting Aziraphale and Crowley,” Pepper explained. “They’re having a baby together, and Crowley isn’t demonstrating _any_ solidarity.”

“Oi!”

“Wait, wait, wait. I need the sane one to talk. Adam. What’s happening?”

He grinned. “Exactly what Pepper said, but Crowley did get rid of the alcohol so I think he’s being pretty solid now. Aziraphale’s having the baby.”

“Oh. Wow. Okay. I’d ask how that’s possible, but I’m going to go with ‘congrats’ instead. How far along are you, Aziraphale? How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

“Five months, terribly stressed, and I suppose I need occultist advice, at present. Perhaps advice of another sort later.”

“Right, sure, okay, I- Newt!” she called, background sounds suddenly becoming much more audible. “Newt, Crowley and Aziraphale are knocked up!” They could hear Newt’s questioning tone, but not the words. “Aziraphale! They’re on the phone now.”

They heard his footsteps. “Hello. It’s Newt,” he said rather unnecessarily. “Congratulations on the baby.”

Aziraphale looked up when Crowley laid a hand on his stomach, smile fond. He did like being congratulated far more than he liked being threatened. “Thank you. Both of you. But we’re all clearly distracted by well wishes and how-do-you-dos. There is a rather pressing matter at hand if we could-”

“They want to kidnap their kid!” Brian announced, getting a second punch in the arm from Pepper. She’d wanted to tell them.

“Wait, excuse me?”

“The angels and the demons who’ve been wandering around Tadfield. I told you how they seemed to be looking for me? For all of us? It has to do with them,” Adam replied. “They want their baby because of the way I turned out.”

“That didn’t have anything to do with them,” Anathema pointed out. Angel and demon exchanged quick glances, but otherwise stayed quiet. Their uninvolvement hadn’t been by choice.

Aziraphale took and squeezed Crowley’s hand. “Hardly relevant to them, I’m afraid. They’re being rather insistent. We had no idea they were bothering you all as well.”

Anathema hummed. “They’re trying to bother us, anyway. I think Mr. Tyler’s going to have a heart attack if we get too many visitors. He’s afraid they’re disrupting the town’s character.”

“Only because a few of the demons are...”

“Being demons,” Crowley guessed. “Probably all low level mischief like drawing on walls and pissing in public.”

“Pretty much,” Adam agreed. “Anyway, Anathema, they’re trying to hide themselves. Like how I can.”

“But nothing’s worked?”

“Adam’s self-defense is... Well, it’s unheard of for an individual. Hiding ourselves from both Heaven and Hell isn’t something we can easily do. I’m only a Principality and Crowley was wise enough to avoid becoming a ranking demon.”

“Why would you want to avoid it?”

“Mngh. You get challenged more if you’ve got a rank, and you get stuck with more bleeding responsibilities. I didn’t want any of that. Not when I was happy enough on Earth. Nothing to do up here but enjoy yourself.” And fall in a very different way for an angel. “We’ve tried a couple different amulets. Some of the ancient ones we remember. The protections from evil for him and good for me. The problem is-”

“Needing protection from both without forcibly alienating one another,” Anathema finished. “One second. I need my- Oh, thanks.” The sound of pages rapidly turning filled the bookshop. “There must be something that would work.”

“Well... Are you thinking too hard about it?” Newt suggested. “Pliny said an amuletum was any object that protected someone from trouble. That doesn’t necessarily mean _demons_. It just means, you know, anything that could cause trouble.”

“Ἀμύνω,” Aziraphale murmured, earning four confused stares and one considering look. 

“What the Hell was that?” Anathema wondered.

“Greek. To ward off,” the angel explained. 

“To guard,” Crowley added. “To defend.”

Aziraphale kissed the back of his hand. “To assist.”

“Ngk,” he protested, wary as ever of displaying affection in front of humans who actually knew he was a demon. Silly serpent that he was.

“Pliny was always a clever thing. I have several of his works, actually. Perhaps I should-”

“More than just his _Natural History_?” Anathema asked, sounding intrigued. “I thought that was the only one that survived.”

Aziraphale released Crowley’s hand to flutter-wave his own in excitement. “Oh, yes! As far as humans are concerned, that’s all there is. Good Lord, I can’t even imagine the degeneration if I let them out of my sight. They’re all quite fragile as it is, so I wouldn’t dream of sharing them. Far too reckless.” Nevermind that he’d made transcriptions of every word for his own pleasure on far newer and less fragile paper. “Absolutely not. But! I _could_ take a peek and see more of his opinions.”

“Well, no, that’s what I was saying about, um, overthinking. Amulets don’t have to be specific religious artefacts or anything. They can be... They can be anything designed to keep you out of trouble. Since, um, since you’re an angel and a demon, you could just... give each other an object to keep on you. And that should work. In theory.”

Silence hung heavy for a few seconds before a book slapped shut and Anathema began to laugh. “You know what, that _could_ work. That’s all I did for the Them. Just a simple protection spell on items I thought suited them. A sword, scales, and a crown, actually.”

“They’re keychains,” Brian explained, taking a bent keyring out of his pocket. There was indeed a crown-shaped charm on the end. “We’ve been walking right through town with Adam and nobody’s said anything. No demons or angels anyway.”

“For how long?” Aziraphale wondered, seeking Crowley’s hand again. 

“Three weeks,” Pepper said. “Dog even has a charm on his collar. Doesn’t he, Adam?”

“Yep.”

“An amulet... Any object we like.” Aziraphale looked up, meeting Crowley’s gaze through his sunglasses. “That could very well work. It would certainly be worth a try.”

Crowley nodded, free hand falling to Aziraphale’s stomach. “Then let’s give it a go. Don’t have to worry about spells or any of that. Just some demonic expectation.”

“And some angelic. Working together, obviously.”

“Obviously. Know what you want?”

“Oh, I don’t think it should work like that, dearest. Though I do know what I’d like to give you.”

Crowley’s brows arched, as curious as ever. “Oh?”

Smiling, Aziraphale removed the signet ring from his pinky. A Heavenly artefact he’d changed over the years, adapting to changing times and styles at his whim. “Something of mine. Something I’ve worn and had all of my time on Earth.” It changed its size at Aziraphale’s quiet urging and he lifted Crowley’s left hand, watching the arch of his brows shift into confusion and then simple awe as the signet ring slipped onto his ring finger. “We may not be wed in the current traditions of humans, but I certainly don’t mind displaying the depths of our partnership for all the world to see. But safely.”

“It’s all about safety with you.” But he stared at the ring, the angel wing motif he’d seen evolve over the millennia. He’d never expected it to be changed into a ring for _him_. 

“You wily old serpent. We’ve quite thoroughly protected one another all this time, so I would say it’s all about safety with you as well.”

Crowley slipped his sunglasses off and tucked an arm into his shirt collar, watching Aziraphale’s smile bloom as he revealed the silver chain he’d been wearing for decades. Barely a fraction as long as Aziraphale had worn his signet ring, but long enough that it was familiar. And it was one of the few things he’d actually bought and Aziraphale knew it. It was only fitting, really, that he should have something Aziraphale had gotten through a miracle and Aziraphale something Crowley had gotten through a purchase. 

It took a miracle to remove one of the links, though, and to resize it to a smooth silver band. Opposites again, though Aziraphale beamed. Blindingly beautiful as always. Crowley took his left hand and slipped it onto his ring finger. “I don’t mind being our version of married to you, angel.”

“Flatterer,” he teased, tears making his eyes shine even brighter as he gazed at the ring on his finger. An amulet and so much more besides. “It’s beautiful, dearest.”

“What happened?” Newt asked over the phone, reminding the occult/ethereal couple of their audience. 

“They got married,” Brian explained.

“Actually, they gave each other rings. It’s a symbolic marriage.”

Pepper huffed at Wensleydale’s closemindedness. “If _they_ say they’re married, they’re married.”

“I reckon that too,” Adam decided, smiling at them. “Now we’ve got to test your amulets!”

Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged looks before Crowley slipped his sunglasses back on. “Right. I’ll pop out.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“ _You’re_ not going, angel.”

“I disagree.”

“They’d want you more than they want Crowley,” Anathema pointed out, interrupting them before their argument could really get going. They tended to pull out references to times ancient enough to make heads spin, so best to mitigate that as much as possible. “If they want the baby as soon as they’re born, they’re more likely to snatch you up.”

“There’s nothing stopping them from using Crowley as a bargaining chip. I’m sure that’s just what they’re attempting to do with all of you.” Aziraphale rubbed circles over his belly, his new ring glinting proudly on his finger.

“Well, ‘course they’ll get me if you think about it like that.” Crowley ignored his frown, concentrating on their surroundings. “No one’s around just yet, though.”

“We’ll hang ‘round till then,” Adam offered, grinning. “This’ll work great. You’ll see, Aziraphale.”

He supposed he didn’t have much choice. Crowley was correct. It _wouldn’t_ work if he had doubts. Much like swapping corporations, he’d had to have complete faith in his demon and his demon in him. The stakes were even higher now, the growing being in his womb depending on them. He took Crowley’s hand and laid it on his stomach, heart swelling when he immediately began to gently caress the baby bump.

This would work. 

\----

No one agreed with Aziraphale’s assessment that there weren’t nearly enough humans out and about to make Crowley’s exit a safe one. Crowley, the foul fiend, had even pointed out that humans were _always_ sparser when the angels and demons made their way down the street. As if they _knew_ that trouble was brewing on Aziraphale’s corner.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

“I’m not going to walk up to someone and say, ‘Oi, I’m the demon you want.’ M’not keen on getting kidnapped. Dunno if a body swap would be... safe right now if they wanted a round two of dunking me in a holy water bath.”

“No, ah, I don’t suppose it would be.” Aziraphale was being very careful with his corporation, his Effort still vaginal simply because he was too nervous to make any alterations. He didn’t want to risk the baby. “You’ll walk straight to Mayfair, though. No silly detours. And you’ll call as soon as the bookshop is out of sight.”

“Yes, angel, I’ve got my phone. I’ll call.” Crowley laid both of his hands on Aziraphale’s bump, leaning forward to rub their lips together just as gently. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got your amulet and a really strong desire not to get kidnapped. No one’s going to use me to get to you.”

“But if they do-”

“Then you’d better not fall for it.”

Aziraphale’s breath caught at the finality in his tone, the grim determination in his gaze and the set of his lips. “Crowley...”

“I’m serious. If I get nabbed somehow, you focus on you and the baby. I’m a demon, yeah? I can handle whatever they throw at me. I have.”

“I know.” Aziraphale reached up to wind his arms around Crowley’s neck, pulling him in for another kiss. “I confess I feel a bit like a heroine in one of my books. I always thought the lengthy goodbyes were a bit, well, dramatic, but...”

Crowley pressed a hand against the small of his back, nudging him closer so that round belly was snug against him. “It is in films too. Never made any sense.”

“Our goodbyes are usually short and... Not sweet, I suppose, as I never liked parting. But we were always quick.”

“Had to be.”

“Quite. And this isn’t even a goodbye, really. The flat isn’t very far at all.”

“Mmhm.”

Neither of them let go.

“I love you, dearest.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s a sight more than _fair_ , dear boy. I feel yours,” he reminded him, “and I- mm!”

Any protest he may have made died quickly, lost in the press of Crowley’s lips, the insistence of his tongue. Aziraphale swayed into him, giving in to the rising tide easily and letting it carry him away. His beloved was like no other and he was, the angel decided, going to be just fine. This was going to work brilliantly. 

He felt his signet ring, repurposed as it was, against his cheek when Crowley lifted a hand to it. The claim he’d made, the gift of protection, would work. He’d been made to guard, and this demon had been worth protecting since he’d first slithered up onto the Eastern wall of the garden. That first boom of thunder had caused an instinctive swing of his wing, but this was deliberate.

“Crowley,” he sighed when their lips parted, tipping into the touch. “You are my husband, aren’t you? In the modern sense of the word. Not the Old Norse hūsbōndi or the-”

“Yesss. I don’t need the language lesson, so we can use whatever word you want so long as it means we’re together.”

“Oh, sweet...”

“Shut up,” he complained, punctuating it with a firm kiss and following it with a step back. “I’m off. We’ve got a plan, yeah?”

“Yes.” And there really was no use in stretching their farewells out any further, particularly not when it would be such a brief parting. “Best get a wiggle on.”

Crowley stepped out the back door, an exit which only appeared when Crowley had needed to make a hasty retreat over the centuries. The bookshop really was a dear place, and Aziraphale was going to be sad to put it behind him. He laid his hand on the wall when the door smoothed away, the wards sealing anew, and smiled. “There’s a dear,” he murmured.

His newly minted husband scanned the street. He could sense demonic energy, though he couldn’t pick them out of the crowd straightaway. He wondered, as he often had since the Sunday morning wherein he and Aziraphale had swapped forms, if this physical camouflage was thanks to angelic meddling. They’d certainly never been so good at it _before_ the war had been averted and, honestly, one of these days, they were bound to see all the hypocrisy at work.

Weren’t they?

Well, Crowley wasn’t going to hold his breath waiting for it to happen.

He held it when the demon got closer, though. He felt them walk by, their essence wriggling like a thirsty worm, and was barely looked at. A second passed, side-stepping him and glancing at the impenetrable windows of the bookshop. Angels were a little harder for him, but a divine essence floated by and had his heart skipping a beat when he was ignored again.

Oh, his angel was... Crowley looked down at the band on his finger, smiling to himself. His angel was brilliant. 

Pleased, Crowley turned and sauntered by the Bentley. He didn’t risk giving it a pat, but did murmur a reassurance as he passed it by. He brushed by more demons and angels than he wanted to admit, watching them eye one another warily with some amusement and more than a little trepidation. He had complete faith in Aziraphale’s amulet, but there was still something decidedly uncomfortable in all of this. It was probably how it felt to be a human with too much supernatural knowledge. 

Someone like Anathema, anyway, with her ability to see auras. What, he wondered, did his look like now? Maybe something a smidge more human than normal? Hm. There was a thought.

As he turned off one of the roads the bookshop sat on, the sensation of demonic and angelic energies vanished and didn’t pick back up until he was near his building. He went just as unnoticed, even though he could tell several were watching the door. There were a few in the lobby, much to the bafflement and upset of security. Crowley liked to cause a flood of people in there sometimes to the same effect, but they were always simple humans and easily shooed away. All around flustered embarrassment had some far-reaching consequences and it was easy to incite.

It had been quite a while since he’d engaged in any low level mischief making. He was starting to miss it, but took a lonely elevator ride up to his floor. Only angels paced the floors up here, demons probably clueing into the trace of holy water still on the floor by his office door and the tale of one of their own dying right there. Fine by him. 

Crowley ignored them all, though did hear one of his neighbours saying something about the handsome redhead not being home recently. Out with his beau, the woman said with enough fondness that Crowley didn’t know whether to be humiliated or thrilled. His door opened without a struggle, unlocking for him the moment he reached for the knob, and he stepped inside with relief. 

He hopped over the spot where Ligur had died, the holy water having left a stain of consecration in the porous surface. He didn’t feel like suffering even a brief burn, especially when riding the high of success. Crowley picked up his phone, dialed quickly, and waited through two rings.

“Hello?”

“Angel.”

“Oh, _Crowley_! I- Oh, yes, dears, it’s him. You made it safely, then?”

“Yup. Knocked shoulders with an angel, and they didn’t even notice. Heard them mutter something about ignorant humans, so that was odd. Guess we’ve really gone native after all.”

“I suppose so.” Aziraphale sighed into the receiver. “I’m so glad, dearest. You’re coming through now?”

“In a mo’.” He packed with a fingersnap, a bag appearing in the middle of the room and everything but the phone he held and his plants disappeared into it. The machine hovered in the air, unaffected by the loss of his desk. 

When he strode into the plant room, the cord stretched with ease, and Crowley eyed the verdant greenery with a discerning eye. The potted trees and leafy what-have-yous waited for judgement, poised and ready. Crowley reached out and touched the leaf of one of his rubber plants, thumb rubbing over a pristine leaf. “Angel, I’m bringing my Hoya Kerrii.”

“Which one is that?”

“The one you gave me. Leaving the rest, I think.” Or sending them to other homes, a few considering hums and nods of his head enough to clear half the room. The Hoya Kerrii sat in the window, plump, heart-shaped leaves dangling from a vine Crowley had instructed to grow no longer than it already had. After a month of his absence, it was still behaving.

“Oh, darling, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure we could make space for them upstairs,” Aziraphale offered, and continued after Crowley’s grunt of a response. “You aren’t worried about the poor dears withering without your green thumb?”

“Someone else can worry about them. Clear your desk, yeah?”

A beat later, Aziraphale let him know it was empty and, a beat after that, he gasped. “Oh, look at you,” he cooed. “Crowley, there are so many more leaves on it now!”

“Don’t ssspoil it,” Crowley hissed. “This is exactly why I’m not keeping any of the others. You’d baby them to death.”

“Oh, no, I would baby them to success. I hope you’re not planning to raise our child with raised voices and threats,” he said snippily.

Crowley grunted again. Of course not, but did he have to be so smug about it? “Plants aren’t babies.”

“This one is. Aren’t you, you pretty thing?”

Crowley huffed into the receiver, and looked around at his remaining plants. The best behaved and, therefore, the most frightened. They’d keep. He laid the receiver against his shoulder and pointed at them. “Alright, you lot, I’m leaving you for the next owners. If you don’t behave through the showings and whatnot, I’ll _know_ and I’ll be back.” Returning the phone to his ear, he walked back into his empty office and picked up the bag. It shrank enough to get tucked into his pocket. “Angel?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Stand back a bit, yeah?”

“Oh, yes. Frances and I will be well out of your way.”

“ _Frances_?”

“I thought it was a tip-top name for this lovely fellow.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, sighing heavily. “It’s south-east Asian. You can’t name it _Frances_.”

“It likes the name Frances, so that’s what we’ll stick with.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and picked up the ansaphone. “You’re an absolute menace. Now move. I mean it.”

“Yes, yes.” He heard the receiver get set on the desk, the Them and all of their curious questions audible in the distance until Crowley disappeared into the receiver.

When he reformed in the bookshop, the questions died for only a moment until Adam declared it, “Wicked!”

“How did you do that?” Brian wondered, awed.

They were awed further when Crowley yanked on the cord and, moments later, his receiver popped out of Aziraphale’s. He hung up both phones before glancing over. “Traveling between the molecules. Our bodies are just... suggestions, really.”

At four very pointed looks Aziraphale’s way, the angel waved a hand. “Oh, no. My body is very much not a suggestion. Not while the baby is growing, at any rate. Besides, all of that electronic travel is positively exhausting. Far too bright for my tastes.”

“Just say it’s too modern,” Crowley teased, smile wicked and eyes soft behind his sunglasses. Aziraphale looked entirely too twee with a potted plant on his hip and his belly rounded with their baby. The leaves were heart-shaped, for Someone’s sake. It should’ve been distressingly humiliating, but he could’ve looked at his angel like this for the rest of time. 

His chin lifted, and the image got even better. “I’ll do no such thing.”

“Does it hurt?” Pepper wondered. 

“Nah. S’natural as your breathing.”

“Actually, what about _your_ breathing?”

“We had to train our corporations how to do those things,” Aziraphale explained. “Of course, I expect mine to behave properly so it does.”

“Is that how you got pregnant?” Brian wondered. “Just sorta expected to?”

“Don’t be wet,” Pepper chided, all of them missing the neon pink flush of embarrassment that crossed Aziraphale’s cheeks. He had expected his body to function appropriately, yes, but that hadn’t meant an expectation of _pregnancy_. “Babies are never guaranteed.”

Grinning, Crowley crossed to him and stole the plant along with a kiss. “They’ve got so much faith in you,” he murmured.

“It appears so. I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint. I’m just an old silly.”

“Mine, anyway.” He shifted his grip on the plant. “Taking this upstairs. The windows are brighter up there than they are in this musty bookshop.”

“I would hardly say _musty_ ,” Aziraphale huffed, pleased by Crowley’s little claim on him. He was always happy to be his.

And he was thrilled that the amulet had worked. They were safe. They were all wonderfully safe. 

\----

They may have been safe, but they weren't pleased with the surveillance. They could walk down the street without being noticed, yes, but they couldn't do much besides. They still had to sneak out the back lest anyone see the bookshop open and the patrols increase. They still couldn't get into the Bentley for the same reason. 

They were still trapped and would be as long as they stayed where they were. 

“You can still keep it,” Crowley murmured. “You should. We'll still be able to come back from London. Whenever we want, angel.”

“I know.” Aziraphale leaned back against him, hands laying over the ones resting on his curved stomach. “But the idea of leaving it...”

Homes were difficult to come by for them. Not places to stay, no. They’d been finding hotel rooms or empty buildings for as long as those things had existed, right back to the earliest tents and huts. But a permanent place to stay, not something to come back to or store one or two things in whilst on an assignment?

Those were rare. Those weren’t for them. 

Yet Aziraphale had gotten the idea to open a bookshop to store his ever-growing collection in something safer than a bag of unknowable depths. Especially after some pickpocket had decided to try his hand at opening an angel’s bag somewhere in the early 1700s. It had taken nearly the full century to get approval and then to set up the shop as a base of operations. Particularly with Aziraphale using enough miracles setting it up to get himself under restrictions, but 1793 held a special place in Crowley’s memory. His ridiculous angel had just been so _fussy_ about the whole thing. 

But the bookshop had still been his for more than two centuries now. A pittance in the grand scheme of things, but it was the first place either of them could think of as _home_ in all their time on Earth. Even Crowley’s flat had only been his since the 1980s. Just a place to park, to store his plants and the few souvenirs he’d picked up along the way. Leaving that would be simple. Leaving this...

“I know, Aziraphale.” Crowley kissed the top of his head, breathing him in. “We’ll keep it as long as you like. Once they’re not watching us, we’ll come back as often as we like too. Bring the kid, even.”

“You’ve always been a clever tempter,” Aziraphale murmured, seeing right through him. The mention of their child was more than that - it was a reminder of what they had to lose, a reminder that Aziraphale could choose this building or the growing baby he could feel moving now. The kicks weren’t strong enough yet to be felt through his skin, though he yearned for that, but they were strong enough for him to feel the movements deep within. And they were a lively little thing, moving from one side to the other so much Aziraphale was starting to wonder if babies slept in the womb. Or perhaps due to their parentage, this particular baby may not. It wasn’t as if it was required, though Crowley had fallen into the habit easily and Aziraphale was... trying. Succeeding more often than not now that the baby existed, but it still wasn’t entirely normal for him. 

“Mm. Can’t even blame the job anymore, can I?”

“Certainly not. Though it’s always been clear how you got the position to begin with.”

“Like you and guarding.” Crowley shifted so he could press a kiss to the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “Knew from the first why you’d been sent down here.”

“Hm. No one up there did. But that’s neither here nor there, is it? I’ll leave questioning Her to you, my darling.”

“S’one of my many talents, asking questions.”

They stood quietly for a few moments, looking out into the bookshop, and Aziraphale soon sighed. “I can hear you thinking. Just say it.”

“You’ll think I’m laying the temptation on thick, but that’s not it,” he warned and Aziraphale squeezed his hand in understanding. “You think the kid’ll ask questions? Or have all your blind faith?”

“I don’t know, really. I suppose I haven’t thought much about that. What they’ll be like, I mean.”

“Me either, but I want to. I want us to be somewhere safe enough that we can wonder what it’s going to be like to be parents and argue over nursery decorations.”

“Are you sure you’re not laying the temptation on thick?”

“You want it too, angel.”

Aziraphale turned in his arms, the growing baby snug between them. “Very much so. I’m willing to move, Crowley, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be upset about leaving the bookshop behind.”

“I know.” Crowley gently cupped his cheek, thumb rubbing soft circles beneath his eye until they both closed on a gentle sigh. “I have an idea of where to look.”

“Do you?”

“Mmhm. S’nice place for summer walks.”

Aziraphale’s lips quirked. “I’m listening.”


	4. Popping Bubbles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hunt for their new home begins, and some new sensations are felt. (There's also lovely, incredible art!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's art, there's art, there's art!!!!
> 
> Please check out [Saminander](http://saminander.tumblr.com) and encourage them 💖 They have talent for days and are absolutely deserving of the attention. An endlessly lovely person 💞

Anathema and Newt provided them with the right terms to give a real estate agent, and, nearly a month later, the driver who deposited them at the hotel in Brighton got quite the tip to accommodate his utter bewilderment over driving an unusual couple an hour and a half out of his usual zone and added confusion over his fuel gauge not dropping a single tic. The tip would cover at least five similar trips, so he folded the bills and drove off after helping them with their single, tartan-patterned suitcase. It probably weighed somewhere around a thousand stones, which is what he’d tell his mates later that night when he was asked why he kept rolling his shoulders.

The pregnant one who reached for it got waved off by the lanky one who didn’t look like he could carry more than five stone without huffing about it. He held the bag like it was empty, even swinging it gently before pushing that very convincing wad of cash at him.

“Have a blessed trip home,” his - they wore rings - husband wished, making the driver’s skin a little tingly. Right strange.

When he drove off, Crowley slid his free hand into one of Aziraphale’s and tugged him inside. The bellhop who took the bag off him nearly dropped it, shocked by its weight, and Crowley sighed when he felt the shimmering of a miracle. “Ruining my fun, angel.”

“Hush. It isn’t even your luggage.”

“Oi, even if I’d had anything to pack, it wasn’t going to fit amongst all your books.”

There were looks as they made their way to the lifts. Aziraphale had not and would not alter his corporation to suit gender expectations. They were well into the 2020s, for Someone’s sake. Besides, he was still uncomfortable doing anything to his body while the baby was sharing it. So bugger them all on two fronts. Which made Crowley’s laughter bounce off the walls of the lift when Aziraphale muttered just that under his breath when they were safely alone with a bellhop who didn’t say anything, but was certainly confused. The tip didn’t erase the confusion, but it kept him from mentioning it to anyone else.

The room changed as they walked in, one of the chairs shifting into an eighteenth century French-style Bergère chair wide enough to be comfortable for Aziraphale. The second chair shifted into a comfortable modern loveseat, and the table shrank to accommodate two cups of tea and a book or two. Bookshelves appeared beside the window and Aziraphale’s bag kindly unpacked itself until each shelf was full to bursting. “That was a lovely drive.”

“It took twice as long to get here than it needed to.”

“Which is why it was a lovely drive. Stress isn’t good for the baby, I’ll remind you, and your particular style of driving is...” Aziraphale trailed off, a glance over his shoulder at Crowley’s pouting glare making him giggle. “Don’t try to argue, dearest. You know I’m correct.”

“I’m not going to argue, but that doesn’t mean anything about my driving. Just don’t want you getting all worked up before we meet the estate agent.”

Aziraphale gave him an indulgent smile, and plucked a book off a shelf at random. He’d packed all of his favourites, after all, and was looking forward to reading whatever it was aloud. The baby seemed to enjoy when he did so, something they had in common with their demonic parent. “Mmhm. When are we meeting her?”

“Two hours. Long enough to get you fed, I think. What’s the baby in the mood for?”

“We don’t know yet.” Aziraphale looked at the book as he set it down, smiling at _As You Like It_. Crowley liked that one. “Let’s take a walk and see what leaps out, shall we?”

“We’re on the water, angel. Might just be seafood.”

There had been a spot before he’d told Crowley about the baby - before he’d known himself - where the _word_ seafood would’ve made him ill, but that had thankfully cleared. He still wasn’t sure how the baby would react to him taking a bite, but they’d cross that potentially disgusting bridge when they came to it.

“We’ll see,” he repeated, folding his hands over his stomach. “We’re decidedly peckish, so- _oh_.”

Crowley was before him in an instant, hands hovering nervously, the corners of his frown tight. “What? What is it, what?”

It was the oddest sensation. Like bubbles popping beneath his skin. And when he followed that feeling, it was like little thuds against his palm. “Crowley... Oh, my dear, feel.” Aziraphale took one of his wrists, guiding his hand over that odd sensation.

He stared at their hands, letting Aziraphale do as he liked until he felt something thump against his palm. Then again. “What the fuck are they doing?”

“Kicking, you darling idiot.”

“Right.” He knew that. He’d known that. He’d felt it... Eons ago. He couldn’t even quite recall. But it hadn’t been like _this_. It hadn’t been his angel drawing his hand over those unsteady, but determined little bump-bumps. It hadn’t been their creation stretching themselves out. He couldn’t recall the details of when he’d last felt this, but he could live another six thousand years and find this memory crystal clear. “Damn me again,” he breathed.

“I’d rather bless you, but we’re meeting the estate agent soon and I’d prefer not having to explain why you have a rash.”

Crowley huffed, but cupped Aziraphale’s cheek with his free hand and brought their smiles together while the baby kicked their way from one side of Aziraphale’s stomach to the other. They were definitely busy.

And they were still not particularly fond of seafood. Thankfully, both baby and Aziraphale were ecstatic about the fudge stall they wandered by when they visited Brighton’s Open Market. That and the café which served him a hot cocoa in the early weeks of July without a single raised brow. 

“Of course the baby likes chocolate.”

“They have to like _something_ , Crowley. Once they’re born, you’re taking me for sushi. They can’t protest if they’re not sharing it, now, can they?”

Smiling, Crowley bundled him in a taxi that would take them twenty minutes North to their waiting estate agent.

They recognized her from her pictures on the business website, but they were not what she was expecting. She’d expected two _young_ men, though the pregnancy wasn’t a surprise at all as she’d read the words “my pregnant husband” more times than she could imagine in Mr. Anthony Crowley-Fell’s texts and emails. She took him for the one in sunglasses as he wasn’t currently resting his folded hands on a very large belly. He looked further than six months along to her, but she wasn’t going to judge. She had kids herself, and the last thing she’d wanted were any comments on how big her belly was or wasn’t getting.

The comments often came regardless and she was sure he was as tired of hearing them as she had been. Especially with this being their first.

Which was the crux of her surprise. They were older than she’d expected for first-time parents. Early fifties, even, for the one carrying. Though perhaps his hair had gone white prematurely? His husband’s dark hair didn’t have a touch of gray, which could’ve been excellent genetics or courtesy of a box, so it was possible that they were in their forties. She really couldn’t actually tell. His spryness didn’t help, the being she knew to be called Ezra Crowley-Fell practically glowing. So much so that it was actually a touch disconcerting. 

“Messrs. Crowley-Fell?” she asked, just to make sure.

The one she knew as Anthony nodded, not bothering to remove his sunglasses, and his husband reached out a hand and gave her a bright smile. Had she glowed this much at six months? Either time? She highly doubted it. “That’s us, my dear lady. How are you? And your family?”

He always asked after her family. His husband did not seem to care one way or another, the inability to see where his gaze was aimed a little disconcerting the longer he did or didn’t look at her. “They’re doing well, and I’m eager to get started. How are you two? Well, three.”

“The baby started kicking today. Earlier. Few hours ago,” Anthony blurted, so obviously excited that it wiped away a _lot_ of the discomfort of being in his presence. Weird sunglasses and indiscernible age aside, an excited dad-to-be was an adorable thing. 

Ezra wiggled happily, just a little shimmy of delight that made her smile. “They did. It was marvelous.”

He didn’t offer to let her touch, and she wasn’t rude enough to assume and definitely not rude enough to ask. She wouldn’t touch his belly if he _wasn’t_ pregnant, and a baby didn’t change that. No matter what other people tended to think. Like a baby was a license to touch. She’d hated the entitlement of certain people during her own pregnancies.

“That’s really great. My husband used to tap my belly to encourage ours to kick,” she recalled, grinning when Ezra slanted his own husband a warning look that very clearly said _do not_. Anthony’s catlike grin didn’t inspire confidence. “Ayway, I’ve scheduled three cottages for you to have a look at today and three tomorrow if we don’t find the best option today. I didn’t think you’d want to handle more than that a day.”

“Whyever not?”

She didn’t sigh at him. It was their first, after all, and she’d been told that they lived just above Ezra’s bookshop. He clearly didn’t have to be on his feet much. Lucky man. “When I was pregnant, I never wanted to _show_ more than three homes a day. My feet and back would start killing me, especially if the places had stairs. Just trying to save you any discomfort, but if you’re willing to keep going after those, I can make a few calls.”

Anthony placed a hand against the small of Ezra’s back. “Three’s good.”

“I’m sure I could handle them all.”

“Can they?” he asked pointedly, nodding towards his belly, and Ezra’s lips pursed briefly before he sighed. 

“Devil.”

“ _Well_.”

“Well, indeed. Mrs. McDonald, shall we?”

“Absolutely.” She smiled and turned to gesture at the cottage just behind her. “This is our first-”

“Yeah, no,” Anthony interrupted.

When she looked back at them, Ezra was wringing his hands together, touching his pinky before twisting his silver wedding band. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t realize. This won’t do at all.”

“It fits nearly everything on your list. The only thing it’s missing is-”

“It’s been _blessed_ ,” Anthony interrupted. Again. She got the distinct opinion that she should get used to that. 

“It was. The previous owners regularly had the local priest come in and bless the home. It’s only been available for a week, and they had him come by just before listing.” She studied Ezra’s apologetic smile and Anthony’s unhappy wrinkle. “Is that... a problem?”

“I’m afraid so. My husband has something of an aversion to religious homes like this. They make him highly uncomfortable.”

There was a frisson, a spark of something in the air when Ezra had called Anthony his husband, something shooting between the two of them that had her nodding. It didn't occur to her to ask how they'd known it was blessed. “Alright, that's fine. None of the others are like that.”

“So glad to hear it. But that does take us down to two potential homes, and I really would like to see three at the absolute least. We're eager to be settled, you understand.”

“Of course.” Whatever their actual ages or occupations, they both screamed Old Money. They'd likely hire a nanny or something, but moving with babies could still be a hassle. Best get them settled before the child was born. “I'll make a few calls whilst you two have a look about that first property.”

“Thank you,” Ezra replied, the pair following her to her car without complaint.

At least verbal complaint. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, and Aziraphale had to take his arm to keep him from trying to slide into the driver’s seat. “You absolute child,” Aziraphale whispered. “This is not your vehicle.”

“She doesn’t have to remember that.”

Shaking his head firmly, Aziraphale guided him into the backseat and brushed off the kind human’s assurances that he was welcome to sit up front where there was more room. Not only did the suggestion that he be forced to ride in the back alone appall Crowley, being in the passenger seat with anyone besides Crowley behind the wheel rather appalled Aziraphale. His darling’s driving may have been outlandish and ridiculously unsafe and Aziraphale could and did complain often and loudly about it, but he trusted him to drive. He trusted this demon who had been rescuing him nearly as long as the world had been turning.

And if he couldn’t have Crowley driving, he’d rather pretend their estate agent was nothing more than a taxi or a bus driver and stay close. Besides, it wasn’t as if they really had to worry about space. The backseat, as far as an angel and a demon were concerned, was perfectly roomy for Crowley’s lanky legs and for Aziraphale to recline a bit to accommodate his ever-widening curves. One of the many things he’d read about pregnancy had suggested that the baby should be roughly the size of a coconut, but Aziraphale would have to respectfully disagree. The baby had been coconut-sized the previous month, but not this one. 

He closed his eyes on a sigh when Crowley eventually settled down from all his wicked instincts to muck about with the car in every which way - fuss with the locks, adjust the vents to terrible angles, move the mirrors, change the radio station - and instead laid a hand over the swell of his stomach. It took Aziraphale several seconds to realize the light caresses were simply attempts for him to discover if the baby was being mobile again.

Almost as if the little thing could sense that sweet desire, they began to kick. Without opening his eyes, Aziraphale took his hand and moved it. Crowley’s soft hiss of pleasure was everything Aziraphale could’ve wanted, more than he’d ever expected to want. He’d been very fine growing their relationship into something more overtly romantic in the years since they’d broken free of Heavenly and Hellish expectation, had enjoyed being able to acknowledge those lingering looks. Taking his hand whenever he liked. Kissing his silly arguments right off his lips. He’d enjoyed it all.

This little life may not have been planned, but he adored the experience. He loved still being able to do all the rest whilst having something viable to show for it. Not that the baby was just some sort of rebellious pronouncement, no. Even had they been planned, Aziraphale didn’t think that particular reason would’ve been a factor. But they were something to hold, something substantial after so many millennia of not even being able to say aloud, “Yes, this is my friend.”

It was why being able to call Crowley his husband, out loud, had been such a thrill. He’d spent his entire existence on Earth the first of them to say “no, I don’t know him,” “he’s not my friend,” “we’re far too different,” and so many other things in denial. How nice to look straight at someone and say, “This is my husband. Not only do I know him, like him, and love him, I married him.” Not only that, but, “We’re starting a family.”

It was astounding, beautifully overwhelming, and Aziraphale would need several thousand years to get used to their side growing beyond two. And as he listened to Crowley murmur excitedly about the movement beneath their palms, Aziraphale vowed that no one was going to take this from them.

Even if he had to waddle his pregnant way up to Heaven and procure a new flaming sword.

\----

The first home was fine. It had several bedrooms, a full bathroom they didn’t need but liked, a spacious kitchen, and hardly any land. After listening to Aziraphale gush over the rest of the building - all the older details, the classic fireplace, the beautiful front windows, Crowley had taken one look at the backyard and had hunched in. He’d made himself prepare to let go of wanting a big garden if Aziraphale really liked the rest of the house that much, but his angel clasped his hands over his stomach and peered out at the squat fenced-in space and hummed in his disapproving way.

“Is that it or does the plot extend beyond the fence line?” he’d asked the moment their estate agent had put her phone in her pocket. 

“No, I’m afraid that’s all. The neighbourhood’s been expanding, so the original owners have actually sold quite a bit of their land over the years to make space for other houses.”

“Ah. Well, it was a good effort anyway. The next house, then, I think.”

Their estate agent may have been surprised by the abrupt turnaround, but Crowley had only swept him in for a firm squeeze. “Angel, if you like the house, it’s fine.”

“It is not fine. You promised me a proper garden, Crowley, and I expect to have one.”

The second house had all the land they could have wanted, but the home itself could use quite a bit of work. Nothing difficult for an angel and a demon to tackle, but there was also the matter of the neighbourhood. Far too many cars drove by during their wanderings and it was enough for them both to say no.

“Fewer neighbours would be lovely,” Aziraphale urged. “We’d like a quiet spot with enough space for a stunning garden.”

The third home delivered on everything, but it felt...

“Like it belongs to someone else,” Crowley muttered, Aziraphale nodding. They really couldn’t explain it any better than that to their estate agent. 

The house checked every box except one they couldn’t possibly explain to a human. This simply wasn’t the place for them, but she said, “We’ll just keep in mind,” and they didn’t bother to argue. She could keep it in mind all she wanted.

And, as much as Aziraphale wanted to keep going, it was nearing dinnertime and the baby wasn’t shy about letting him know they were peckish. “Is there an Argentinian themed restaurant around here, by chance?” he wondered, and it was just the two of them an hour later, Aziraphale happily satisfying a craving with Crowley watching with his usual abundance of fondness.

“I could’ve kept looking at potential homes,” Aziraphale insisted, delicately dabbing his napkin to his lips. “I’m hardly in any discomfort.”

When they’d been seated, he’d sighed as if sinking into a hot spring after a long day of manual labour, Crowley thought. His wildly vacillating ability to lie never failed to amaze. “That’s a load of bollocks.”

“Oh, hush. It is not.”

“So if we head back to the hotel now and you take off those brogues, you won’t have swollen feet? Your lower back isn’t sore?” Crowley tipped his head at the ripple in the air, listening to Aziraphale’s barely suppressed pleased noise. “I felt that. Miracling the pain away doesn’t mean-”

“I assure you, dearest, I feel just fine.”

“Don’t want a backrub, then?”

Aziraphale eyed him a moment before neatly laying his napkin down. “I don’t recall saying _that_. I may also need a foot rub. If you’re offering, of course.”

Crowley’s eyes shone behind dark lenses. Bastard. “‘Course.”

\----

The next day, every house met their checklists except the most important: _the feeling_. 

They were all lovely, fine places to raise a family in safe relative seclusion. The whole area was wonderful, obviously. Just what they wanted and, well, it _did_ have the right feeling. After the third home failed to elicit that same sense of rightness, Aziraphale and Crowley wandered down the streets of one of the nearby towns in search of what Aziraphale insisted was a late lunch rather than dinner.

It was very clearly a ploy to get a second dinner that Crowley didn’t feel a need to argue with. His husband - and wasn’t that a thrill? - could get as many meals as he wanted. Him and their baby. It wasn’t so bad being in a little village near the sea, actually. Though Crowley was still keeping a mental lookout for anyone of either Heaven or Hell, there was a peace here that just didn’t exist in London. Not outside of one bookshop on a corner in Soho, anyway, and even that was being pulled taut.

This area was a good place for a kid. A safe place that was safe enough for them, too. He and Aziraphale hadn’t had such a place to be in far too long, possibly ever, and the fact that they were picking a home out together flooded Crowley with an excitement he’d never admit to. Mostly because he didn't have to. Aziraphale already knew. 

It was probably ridiculous, still keeping so much of that tucked away. His own joy and a secret, quiet kindness that was only overtly shown to the being across from him. Crowley knew it was there. He wasn't quite that ignorant of himself. It just hadn't been safe to acknowledge it, ever, while under Hell's thumb and, well, it wasn't exactly the image he was trying to project outside of them either. It wasn’t as if he didn’t _enjoy_ being a demon. He did. He very much did. 

Making mischief was a top tier activity, even if it was as mild as supergluing coins to sidewalks. Yes, _maybe_ he looked ridiculous doing it but 1) he’d never been caught by anyone whose memory couldn’t be erased except that one time by Aziraphale which Crowley refused to acknowledge and b) the satisfaction gleaned from doing something without a litany of miracles was usually far greater than diving into a mind and manipulating it and III) it was something which could cause chaos for _days_ across _multiple_ people. It was brilliant in its simplicity.

At least he tamped down on the stronger urges. The maiming ones or the carjacking ones. He did really love a good carjacking or just mucking about with the engines, but he could ignore those itchy instincts because no car but his was _worth_ jacking. A demon - at least he - had to pick his battles, particularly when on the arm of an angel. Or having one hanging off his, which he very highly enjoyed. He hadn’t necessarily gotten used to it in the years he’d been able to have it, but it had barely been anytime at all. He’d wanted this longer than he could say, not even able to pinpoint the exact moment wherein his fascination had shifted to love. Oftentimes, it felt as if it had been there from the first moment on the wall. From a panicked “ _I gave it away._ ” 

He had it now, though. They had a _lot_ now. He glanced at Aziraphale as they stepped into a little café, at the rounded curve of his belly. He’d always been on the soft side, straight from the beginning, and he’d hardly changed a bit in six thousand years. How was one supposed to handle this much change in just a couple of months? Not just to his corporation, but to their entire lives. It would never just be the two of them again. Crowley usually rode the tides of change like a fish. Aziraphale took to them like a drowning rat.

“You’re thinking very hard, my dear.”

Crowley shook his head, pulling out a chair for Aziraphale almost absently. “Dunno about that.”

“I do.” Aziraphale sank down carefully, grateful for the table over a booth. As much as he would’ve liked to sit by the windows, his belly wasn’t being very accommodating and too many humans were occupying too many booths for him to feel comfortable widening one just for himself. “What is it?”

“S’nothing.”

Aziraphale hummed, ordering hot cocoa, three different muffins, and an assortment of entrées that made the server’s brows disappear in her fringe. The girl clearly didn’t know what to do or say about the roundness pressed against the table’s edge, so wisely said nothing and only looked more distressed when Crowley only ordered a tea.

When she walked off, Aziraphale neatly unfolded his napkin. “Really, my dear, what’s going on in that head of yours?”

It was almost the same. _Almost_. “Just thinking you ordered about half the menu there, angel.”

“Oh,” he huffed. “I _am_ eating for two.”

“I don’t think eating for one’s ever stopped you from ordering half a menu.”

Aziraphale started to smile, but the edges caught something in Crowley’s gaze and slipped away. “Are you... having second thoughts?”

Crowley nearly vaulted across the table, settling instead for sharply leaning forward and grabbing his hand. “No.”

“Are you certain?”

“Extremely.”

Aziraphale turned his hand up so they were palm to palm. “Then what’s wrong, dearest?”

“Ngk.” He looked at their hands, lacing them so he could see the silver ring on Aziraphale’s finger. How... _weird_ for that to make his heart hopscotch so much. It had been a human trend since the ancient Egyptians, a fact lost to most of humanity, but they’d been fond of that _vena amoris_ thing. Bunch of bollocks, but he couldn’t help the way looking at the ring on his own left hand tended to make his heart do the same ridiculous things as the one on Aziraphale’s finger. “How are you handling all of this?”

“I don’t understand.”

“All the changes, Aziraphale. Everything is changing. Right down to your corporation. How are _you_ handling all of it?”

Aziraphale looked at him, a veil shifting over his eyes. Crowley was well-acquainted with that shadow. It usually fell when he was thinking things he didn’t want Crowley to see before he was ready, his eyes taking on a sheen that blotted out their sparkle. He’d seen them in Wessex when Aziraphale had sat down beside him in a pub, the pair of them out of their heavy armour and tucked in a dark corner with pints and an Arrangement to sort out. He’d seen them in the Bentley in 1967 when a tartan thermos had carefully been passed his way. He’d seen them standing under a bandstand, fear batted back and forth like a shuttlecock between them. 

It wasn’t always a bad thing, that shadow, but it still made Crowley’s shoulders tense and his fingers shift restlessly. And Aziraphale didn’t tell him not to fret. He just smiled and gently squeezed his hand, leaving the demon on pins and needles like the bastard he was until their drinks were set down and the server scattered again.

Then, “I think, perhaps, I’m handling this in much the same way I handled the first time you came into my life.”

“How you handled _me_?” Crowley arched a brow, lips curling into something between a sneer and a smile. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Only with less, ah, lying to myself or to you. And now I’m less... controlled by outside forces.” Aziraphale hummed, squeezing his hand again. “You know I was sent here as a guardian. It’s what She told me to do. Guard the gate, guard the humans, guard all the creatures great and small. You were one of those creatures, so I’m here, of course, to guard you. And now I have this one.” He looked down; they both did. “Our own small creation, so I’ve got to guard them as well. I’ll do whatever I need to do in order to accomplish that.”

“Including adapting to changes.”

“Very rapid changes. Very rapid, extreme changes which have given me no _real_ say in the matter at all.” Which was clearly the honest way he was thinking about all of this. They weren’t _easy_ adjustments and he wasn’t handling easily, no matter how it seemed. It soothed a kink in Crowley's spine. “But I love our baby, Crowley, and I know I’m allowed to do so openly. Moreover, I’m glad to say I’m not alone. That does make it far less difficult to adapt.”

“'Course you're not alone, angel. You never have to worry about that.”

“No, dearest, and you've shown me time and time again that it's never been something I've had to fret over. Even when, ah, on occasion, I continue to do so.” 

It was difficult not to have doubts now and again. Crowley still did. They'd spent six thousand years knowing that, ultimately, they were destined to fight in a war. _Against_ one another. Every single step they'd made towards friendship - from the very beginning with Crowley slithering onto a wall in Eden to chat rather than argue and Aziraphale lifting a wing in defense from a new thing called rain - had come with the knowledge that one day the trumpets would sound and the battle would begin. 

Crowley hadn't been resigned to it by any means. It was just something which had lived in the back of his mind, in the very depths he only examined when he was at his lowest. When he'd casually suggested an Arrangement or been desperate enough to ask for holy water and had been rebuffed. Aziraphale usually said no at first and then slowly, slowly, _slowly_ came 'round. Up to and including when Crowley had asked for help in handling the Antichrist. Or what they’d thought was the Ant- Nevermind.

The point was, the war hadn't lived in the back of the angel's mind like it had Crowley’s. It had always hovered far closer to the front. He'd needed to examine everything from every angle and make sure the steps he was taking fit into his circular logic and kept them both safe because, yes, he took being a guardian of Earth and its inhabitants very seriously. Crowley was used to the circular logic, had used it more than once himself when Aziraphale’s nerves overrode that clever mind. He knew it was something Aziraphale was trying to break himself of because, well, there was nothing to logic his way out of anymore. Heaven’s oppressive rule didn’t need to be circumnavigated because it wasn’t oppressing him any longer.

Fear for Crowley, something the demon was just never going to be used to, had different flavours to it now too. No longer afraid that Hell would destroy him, there were other things to fret over. Discorporation now had different meaning for them both, after all, and could be dangerously permanent and, while it was far simpler for Crowley to navigate as a bundle of spirit energy than it was for Aziraphale with his single attempt at bouncing from person to person, it was still something neither of them wanted to deal with.

Particularly not with a baby on the way.

“New things to fret over now,” Crowley said. 

“And you know I’m doing quite a bit of that, thank you.” Aziraphale beckoned him closer, so Crowley lifted his feet a smidge and the chair slid soundlessly around the table. The hand Aziraphale held was placed on that rounded stomach and, though the baby wasn’t currently kicking, that wonder was still fresh in Crowley’s mind. “We need to be competent this time, dearest. For them.”

“We will be. We _have_ been. Got our amulets, we’re looking for a safe spot...” A thousand things could go wrong. A single misstep and they could lose everything. Aziraphale wasn’t the only one who could fret, but Crowley was always quick to soothe. “We’ll be alright, angel.”

“Yes, we will.” He sounded so quietly certain, Crowley had to sigh. They were _both_ quick to soothe sometimes. “Crowley,” Aziraphale said firmly, garnering eye contact again. “We _will_ be alright.”

Crowley nodded after a moment. “Yeah. You up for a bit of a walk after this? Or a drive?”

“You’re not stealing someone’s vehicle, Crowley.”

“I’ll get us a taxi, shove the driver in the backseat so we can have the front.”

“No.”

His complaint of “ _angel_ ” came perilously close to a whine, and it earned him a giggle, Aziraphale’s stomach jiggling under their hands and the baby giving a pretty solid kick in response for disturbing their nap. Crowley grinned. 

“Yeah, angel, we'll be alright.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, go give [Sami](http://saminander.tumblr.com) a peek and some affection 💖💖💖💖


	5. A Piece of the Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cottage, a snake, a sword, and a fierce round angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing last weekend! My works been hectic around the holidays, and I don't see it slowing anytime soon

He always said no at first. It was just for the show of it sometimes, though he was sure Crowley knew that. His clever demon. His clever, wretched, speed demon. Aziraphale clung to the borrowed taxi’s seat belt like a lifeline, eyes squeezed shut as if he could pretend they weren’t doing eighty miles an hour through this tiny, lovely spot near Brighton.

“Must you go this fast?”

“There’s nobody on the road back here. It’s empty.”

“It’s going to be covered in snake scales when I push you out of this car if you don’t slow down.” Aziraphale cracked an eye open so he could glare at his very lackadaisical husband. Aziraphale knew and he understood that his demon dearly missed driving the Bentley. He hadn’t _planned_ to stop the day he had, after all, and the poor car likely missed her driver as much as her driver missed her, but _honestly_.

“I’m only doing eighty.” Aziraphale opened the second eye to add some proper oomph to his glare, and felt the car slow even as Crowley rolled his eyes. “It’s _fine_.”

“You do know better than to cause undue stress on a pregnant person, do you not?”

“Ngk.”

“I thought so.” Aziraphale turned his head to look out the window and gasped. The taxi was already rolling to a stop, the two of them gazing towards a long drive that seemed to disappear in the depths of an overgrown garden. Behind the thick shrubbery was faded brown brick and dark grey shutters, a cottage rising out from the greenery.

“It might not be for sale,” Crowley pointed out because one of them had to.

Aziraphale wouldn't hear of it. “Good thing we’ve got quite the talented tempter on hand, isn’t it?”

They piled out of the car together, Aziraphale leaving quite a bit more cash behind than necessary for their very bemused driver. He couldn’t remember _why_ he’d decided to let the insane bloke with sunglasses drive, but it was a choice he didn’t think he’d be making again. Unless they tipped like this again.

Aziraphale gripped Crowley’s arm as they left the taxi behind, the old gravel of the drive uneven under their feet. This place had the right feeling. This tucked away little gem with its messy yard didn’t feel like it belonged to anyone else but them. Tugging him to the front door, Aziraphale reached for the knob and it turned with ease. If it had been locked, neither of them cared as they stepped inside and found it empty. The hardwood floors were sturdy underfoot, and Aziraphale opened his mouth to talk about rugs.

Rugs and polished floors and lovely detailing in the corners of the walls and on the edges of the fireplace mantel and, my, this kitchen doesn’t look as if it’s been updated since the 1950s and isn’t that _wonderful_?

It was wretched if anyone asked Crowley and, since the angel had, he readily said so and was pinched for the effort. “Oi!”

Giggling, Aziraphale released him and stepped away towards the stairs. He hated them halfway up, but Crowley was very willing to sweep him up and carry him the rest of the way. And, of course, pinch him in retaliation.

“Demon.”

“Well.”

Well, indeed.

The first floor had three bedrooms and a single bathroom, which was hardly important to them. The bedrooms made Aziraphale smile, the third able to be converted to a library, perhaps. Until they saw the attic and this, Aziraphale insisted, would make a wonderful library. He could put shelves throughout the entire space, and still have enough room for a darling chair and a little table just big enough for cocoa and his spectacles.

He could see it so clearly; they both could. Crowley could already picture their lives there, so helped Aziraphale back to the ground floor so they could finish their exploration. There was a bright parlour, windows letting in quite a bit of light, so it could be a nice spot for some plants. He couldn’t only have them outside, after all. What would he bully come winter?

Though all that faded when he heard Aziraphale’s gasp from the back of the home. He hurried down the hall, not sure what to expect and not ready for what he found: a conservatory. Not enormous or overtly grand, but clean and classic. The windows were smudged and dirty from human neglect, particularly higher towards the ceiling where a few had splintered into spidery cracks, but they’d _shine_ when fixed and cleaned. The entire room was begging to be filled with greenery, Crowley so easily able to imagine it awash with colour.

And then he saw the back garden so quickly walked out the door to be in it. The high fence was covered in ivy, a little path to a tiny greenhouse or shed nearly overrun by weeds that would be excitingly stubborn. It was a July dream come true. He had enough time to get this all whipped into shape before autumn and winter took hold.

He was hardly aware of how wide his grin was until Aziraphale looped an arm around his and leaned in, his own smile bright. “I believe we should contact our estate agent.”

“Why, what’s she done?”

Aziraphale tutted disapprovingly before leaning into Crowley’s side, smile softening. He could trade the bookshop for this lovely little home. Even without the spacious attic and adorable kitchen, his husband’s whiplike crack of love for the conservatory and for the garden had sealed the decision. “It isn’t what she’s done, dearest, but what she’ll do. I haven’t purchased property in more than two centuries, and you sauntered into your current flat without a word to anyone and took it over thirty years ago.”

“And? Dunno why we can’t do that here,” Crowley grumbled, but it was more for show. He wanted it to be theirs the very - or mostly - human way, same as Aziraphale.

“I'll call, then.”

“You don't know how to use my phone.”

“I know how to ask it to do what I want done.”

“We don’t even know the address. What are we going to say?” Crowley asked. “‘Stumbled ‘cross a house in the middle of nowhere, broke in, we want it?’”

Aziraphale tugged at his bowtie to needlessly straighten what was already pristine. “We certainly won’t phrase it that way. Doesn’t your phone know the address? That, ah, WAH feature.”

“WAH,” Crowley repeated, bland in delivery to avoid keeping Aziraphale from treating him to whatever the Heaven WAH was supposed to stand for.

He huffed. “‘We Are Here.’ Or whatever it is.” Crowley grinned, and Aziraphale huffed again, adding an impatient little wave. “Stop that, you incorrigible thing. Whatever it is, use it.”

“GPS.”

Aziraphale’s nose wrinkled, but at least Crowley had pulled out his phone. “Gee post script?”

“Global Positioning System.”

“Ah. That sounds far more complicated than it needs to be.” He frowned. “Just ask it where we are so we can call the estate agent.” Crowley continued to grin at him until Aziraphale flounced away with a third huff. Ridiculous demon. “We Are Here” was most definitely a thing somewhere, he was certain of it, and he wasn’t going to let his ridiculous demon mock him for it.

Though his ridiculous demon was incredibly amused through his phone call with the estate agent, and happily gathered his irritable angel in his arms after. “She'll be here in a bit. It was on her list for tomorrow.”

“How lucky for us to have found it today. Who knows who might've seen it first?”

“Mm.” Against his own stomach, Crowley could feel the tiniest of thumps, so pressed himself a little closer and buried his face in Aziraphale's hair. “They're so active.”

“Very much so.” Any remaining irritation slipped away. He sounded so sweetly awed. “Perhaps they know they're home.”

“Sap,” Crowley accused, and Aziraphale smiled. 

\----

It took three days to sign the papers and get the keys, a miraculously short turnaround that had their estate agent’s head spinning. But there were things an angel and a demon needed to accomplish and a short time in which to do so. The stress Aziraphale was under was simply not conducive to growing a baby. The new kicks had been a clear indication that time was running short, and they needed to have their safe place ready.

She gave them a gift basket in congratulations and Aziraphale offered a bottle of wine only because he very badly wanted to drink it himself, so it was best that it get miracled out of the bookshop and be given to someone who could currently enjoy it. And quickly before they returned.

When she’d left, Crowley helped Aziraphale up the stairs again and they wandered through the three empty bedrooms. They were all largely the same size, but the middle one had the biggest window and both Aziraphale and Crowley liked looking out over the front garden. Possibly because it felt safer to be able to see the front of their home and the road it was on through the trees, but also simply because they both liked looking down at the greenery and remembering the first time they’d done so together.

They’d watched Adam and Eve until they’d disappeared and the rain with them before turning around, the demon wondering aloud what would happen to the garden now and Aziraphale wondering the same thing quietly, to himself. He hadn’t thought, then, that the garden would spread. He’d expected it to die and had expected the desert to go on forever. As punishment, perhaps, a Hell like the Fallen Angels had received when they’d let the Almighty down. Or whatever they’d done, as it was difficult for Aziraphale to imagine Crowley disappointing Her. Disobeying, yes. But disappointing? No.

Yet rather than being punished for eating the apple, humanity had been allowed to flourish. Spread out and create as they’d been created, allowed to explore, to love, to still taste Her forgiveness. Eden hadn’t died, and now he and Crowley had a piece of it all to themselves.

He relaxed when long arms wound their way around his waist from behind, smiling as his demon coiled and draped over him like the clingy serpent he was. “This is ours.”

Crowley’s nod was more him rubbing his nose against soft curls. “Mmm, yup.”

“I don’t know why we didn’t do this sooner,” he remarked, more to hear Crowley’s scoff and feel his fond squeeze than out of any real belief in the words. He did know, they both knew, and it made the moment all the sweeter. 

For a moment, anyway. 

“I don’t particularly want to go back to the bookshop tomorrow, which is quite frankly not something I ever thought I’d say.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t like your idea for the Bentley.”

Crowley sighed into his hair. “I know.”

“You shouldn’t go alone.”

“Be faster that way, angel. You know that.” One of his hands slid up, following the crest of Aziraphale’s belly meaningfully. “You’ve got this one to keep safe.”

“Yes, but I have to ride in Newton’s vehicle. You know how I feel about other drivers.”

Crowley kissed the top of his head. “That they’re better at it than I am?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile. Wretched thing. “Precisely.”

“I’ll be careful, dove. No reckless behaviour from me.” Though Crowley knew it wasn’t his own behaviour that had his angel nervous. It was the unpredictability of certain others that gave them both reason for concern. “At least Newton’s been driving longer than any of the Them. No accidents since having their kid, and having an angel in the car? It’ll be fine. You just have to make it out of London.”

“Yes, yes, and then we'll wait for you.” Aziraphale sighed, looking out at their garden and wishing they could be doing this without worry. “What colour should we paint the nursery?”

“ _Paint_?”

“Yes, paint, you terrible thing. I want to do it the human way.”

Crowley hummed. “Neon orange.”

Laughing, Aziraphale pushed out of his hold. “You wretch. Let’s pick their room.”

\----

They couldn’t go without a stop at the park. They sat at the bench they’d been meeting at since the 1940s. There was no longer legal feeding of the ducks, but Crowley still tossed seed out for them to make up for the fact that Aziraphale wouldn’t. The wonderful demon.

This wouldn’t be the last time they visited, but it would be the last time for a while.

“What if our ducks forget us?”

“They’d never.”

“What if someone else tries to sit at our bench?”

“They’ll think better of it.”

“Wise of them.” Aziraphale leaned into Crowley with a sigh, his hair tickling the demon’s neck.

He didn’t say anything about it or the unusually relaxed posture, though the arm casually tossed across Aziraphale’s shoulders tightened and he hooked an ankle beneath one of the angel’s. For all the time they’d been together in this park, it had never been like this. But the sun was shining, the ducks quacking, and people wandering. Humans being human. From the spies on other benches to the children doing cartwheels in the grass, it was all worth soaking in and stealing some of the peace for themselves. It was still incredible that they were able to.

“I'm going to miss this spot,” Aziraphale murmured.

They'd had arguments in this park - both lighthearted bickering and the sorts of hurtful things that resulted in long naps and longer separations. They'd laughed in this park - quiet hidden things when they were pretending not to know each other and louder shared moments when they forgot to pretend. They'd fed the ducks bread and seeds. They'd stood at the fences and watched the first plants being installed. They’d sat just where they were and had wondered about the fate of the world. And they'd watched so much of it together. 

It wasn't even the park alone that Aziraphale meant, and Crowley knew it. London as a whole had been theirs longer than London had existed. But a thought occurred that made Crowley’s lips quirk. “Y'know, it's partly our doing Brighton’s part of England to begin with.”

“Wessex didn't take the area over until three hundred years _after_ we settled on the Arrangement,” Aziraphale said, partly in agreement and partly to point out the flaw in the logic. 

“We were still around.” The misty, damp place had somehow grown on them. It wasn't a perfect place, by any means. Its history was, in fact, riddled with terrible flaws and great atrocity, but it had also become home to so much unique human greatness. The sun had eventually burnt off the mists, so they'd fallen into this little country and enjoyed it. Come back to it again and again between assignments. Sometimes seeing one another, and sometimes just missing each other. 

It was a lovely, bright summer day and they were together now. They no longer had to miss one another. “We’ll always be around,” Aziraphale murmured, hands folded over his stomach and cheek on his husband’s shoulder. The future was laid out ahead of them in such unexpected ways.

They sat together until night began to fall, then returned to the bookshop to pack. Aziraphale would’ve liked to go through everything, really. The accumulation of his history and even some of Crowley’s was tucked away here, an amalgamation of their favourite parts of the world and the times they’d observed, but there wasn't time.

“Do you know, I have a preserved oyster shell in here somewhere.”

Crowley’s brows lifted, lips curving in his fond way. “Petronius?”

“Mm. I believe it was the first time I ever asked you to come somewhere with me.”

It had been. Oysters, Crowley still wasn’t particularly fond of. Watching Aziraphale eat oysters, however, was an entirely different thing. Oysters and wine and a thin white toga - all things which had featured prominently in Crowley’s fantasies before things between them had been able to become more than simple imagination.

“Unpacking should be interesting if you’ve got things like oyster shells laying about.”

“I only have one,” he retorted with a huff, “and it’s tucked in a chest.”

“A chest.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale brushed his hands over the fabric covering his thighs. “Momentos of times gone by that... appear as rubbish.”

Aziraphale was treated to one of Crowley’s rare blinks, his brows slowly lifting. “Wot.”

“I have an oyster shell from 41, a silver button from 1793, a bit of charred stone from 1941... a few other little things. It’s a small chest, after all, and... should anyone besides you or I look at it, it would look like rubbish.” 

“It’s a me chest?”

“An _us_ chest, you egotistical serpent.”

Crowley grinned. “It’s really the same thing, angel.”

“Hardly.”

“What rubbish bit are you going to put in it for all this?” he asked, teasing.

“I already added the last pregnancy test I took,” Aziraphale replied, not teasing at all.

The grin didn’t fade, but it melted into something Crowley would be embarrassed to know looked quite soppy. “Angel...”

“I suppose now they’re things I could just throw out, but I very much do not want to. I’d rather display them somewhere in our cottage, I think.”

“Would you?”

Aziraphale reached out, taking Crowley’s hand so he could lift the knuckles to his lips. “For six thousand years, I’ve had to say - to myself, to you, and to anyone else - that our relationship was ultimately for nothing. The wonderful friendship you and I curated was intended to be tossed in the bin as soon as Armageddon began. But it wasn’t. And I don’t want to toss out my collection anymore than I want to toss you.”

“Bet you could, couldn’t you? Even now. Just toss me about like a doll.”

It was an escape, Aziraphale knew, from the heaviness of the words. The way Aziraphale’s openness about what they were versus what they’d been could sometimes throw his demon off balance. Feelings could still be difficult for them both. Understanding one another, however, was familiar territory. So the angel smiled. “Of course I can. One-handed, even. You hardly weigh a thing.”

Crowley squeezed his hand, as grateful for the understanding as he was simply in love with this astounding angel. “As a snake, maybe.”

“Don’t tempt me to try, you wily old serpent. We have packing to finish.”

It took less than five minutes. And, yes, Aziraphale would’ve liked more time to go through everything but that’s what unpacking would be for. For now, he’d enjoy the very human luxury of pizza during the moving process and sleeping on a mattress on the floor... for roughly ten minutes before he made Crowley miracle the bed frame back.

He and the baby were much happier with that, yes.

\----

Newt squinted, gazing curiously out the window. He couldn’t sense demons or angels like Crowley, nor could he see their auras like Anathema, but he was an excellent judge of things that seemed out of place. And the man stood by Crowley’s car across the street was very out of place. No one else seemed to notice this, which made him stand out more. Like everyone breezing by Sergeant Shadwell on his soapbox about witches, but a lot more frightening.

“Um. Sorry to interrupt, but I think there might be... a demon, possibly, by your car.”

“Of course there is,” Crowley grumbled, approaching the window to peer out. “Shouldn’t be anyone difficult to,” he paused and it took considerable effort for him to continue, “get through.”

Of course Aziraphale noticed. He bustled over and peered out, immediately leaning back on a gasp when he recognised the slimy, trench-coated demon. “We can’t go yet. Change of plans.”

Crowley sighed. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s not- Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale protested. “Of course it’s _that bad_. Of all the- You are _not_ going anywhere near the Bentley.”

“He won’t even know it’s me.”

“He’ll know when the car starts moving!”

“And he can’t do anything about that. We talked about this,” Crowley reminded him. “Hastur’s an idiot. He’ll probably think the Bentley’s moving on her own.”

“He may not know a single thing about Earth, Anthony J. Crowley, but he is certainly not quite as big an idiot as you seem to think.” And Aziraphale knew, too, that he was volatile. He was willing to lash out. _Waiting_ was probably not being done with any measure of patience, not when he finally had a chance to “take him” as he’d been so keen to do when holy water had not, apparently, done its job. Being surrounded by humans wouldn’t stop him. “If it was anyone else-”

“I am not sitting here being afraid of _Hassstur_ ,” Crowley hissed, infuriated by the mere suggestion.

“You’re not sitting at all. You’re standing.”

“Don’t get pedantic with me just because you’re nervous of that frog-brained-”

“He’ll destroy you.”

“Can we come back around to our base knowledge?” Anathema interrupted, doing her best to curb their bickering before it got quite as ridiculous as they were known to get. “Who’s Hastur?”

Newt gestured to the window. “Him, apparently.”

“Helpful,” she replied because, well, bickering wasn’t exactly beneath the two of them either. She approached the window and looked out, brows lifting at the very dark aura surrounding the pale man in a very obvious, messy wig. There were some similarities between his aura and Crowley’s, but where the latter had a soft sheen to him that would probably irritate him to no end, the former was jagged and angry. Very angry.

Anathema had to turn away from him, uncomfortably reminded of an airbase and four horsepersons. “Okay, so he’s definitely a demon. And he’s... not happy.”

Aziraphale flung a hand out towards her. “ _See_ , Crowley? He’s displeased. Therefore, you’re not getting the Bentley today. We’ll have to wait.”

“Oh, do not drag me into your arguments please. That isn’t going to end well for any of us.” They both scowled at her in their own ways and she held up her hands. “That’s exactly why. He’s mad, but that doesn’t explain why you’d be fine with anyone else.”

Sighing gustily, Aziraphale peeked back out the window and gave a little shudder. The humans didn’t know about their body swap anymore than Heaven and Hell did, the secret too precious to spread to a single being besides themselves. “During Crowley’s trial, he... Well. Crowley knows. He threw an usher straight into holy water without a single care.” And Aziraphale was still furious that a drop from all that splashing hadn’t hit him somehow. At _least_ a drop would’ve maimed him enough to lower the threat. “He’s also a Duke of Hell.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Newt wondered.

“Means he’s a powerful git, and he’s not afraid to show it off,” Crowley impatiently explained. “I’ve still outsmarted him more than he wants to admit. So there’s no reason to-”

“Crowley, this isn’t one of your clever tricks.” And Aziraphale had been told already how narrowly Crowley had escaped him the last time they’d met. He’d also been treated to just how hard Hastur could hit with a crowbar, something he knew Crowley was still angry over. Letting his demon actually go near someone he was angry with wasn’t the safe choice to make. They _had_ to do this safely. “He wants to destroy you, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him if we’ve gone ahead of you.”

“Angel, there’s nothing you could do if a car hits me while I’m crossing the street either.”

“That’s entirely different.”

“I’d go to the same place either way.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together, shifting his weight from one foot to another as he turned away from him in frustration. “You’re impossible. This wouldn’t be a freak accident. This is an attack by a specific demon we both know despises you.”

“They all despise me. They despise _us_. That’s the whole fucking point of-”

“We can take Aziraphale after you leave,” Anathema interrupted. It wasn’t unlike talking to her own toddler, though there were two to contend with and they really should’ve been a lot more mature than they were.

Crowley whirled on her. “Now, hang on-”

“We could do it that way, couldn’t we?”

Crowley whirled on Aziraphale. “No.”

“Well, I don’t see why we can’t.” Aziraphale beamed, mind very much made up. “Excellent suggestion, my dear girl. We’ll just leave after Crowley.”

“That’s not-”

“Give me one good reason why not. _Really_ , Crowley, it’s the most reasonable solution if you’re so insistent on leaving tonight.”

“Because if he _does_ actually notice the Bentley driving off, he’s going to be looking for something else to happen.”

That didn’t entirely make sense to Newt. “Actually-” Two gazes snapped his way and he nearly quieted, but he cleared his throat and pressed on. “If he sees the Bentley leaving, isn’t he going to assume that both of you are in it? Especially if you put, um, a decoy in the passenger seat. If he’s not that smart like Crowley says or if he’s focused on wanting to cause harm like Aziraphale says - Well, either way, he’s not going to be thinking Aziraphale’s going to be leaving with us. Or- or with anyone, er, after the fact. Right?”

“That’s how we came up with the original plan,” Anathema reminded them. “They expect you guys to stay together. And, with the talismans working how they are, the decoy doesn’t have to - and shouldn’t - even look like Aziraphale.”

Crowley peered out the window again, scowling at Hastur flicking a cigarette butt onto the hood of the Bentley. Wanker. It was true. It was _sensible_ , even. But-

A hand settled on his elbow. “I know you’re attempting to twist this into some sort of battle, dearest, but I think they’re correct. And you do as well or you would already be arguing.” Aziraphale looked out the window as well, just as displeased by the mistreatment of the beloved vehicle. He knew what she meant to Crowley. “He’s dangerous, and if he doesn’t attempt to follow you - foolish though that would be - I’ll telephone you and follow later.”

But Crowley wanted to watch Aziraphale leave. He wanted to make sure his husband and their kid made it off safely. He wanted to be sure the two humans made it off alright, considering their own kid was waiting for them. “Fuck’s sake,” he sighed.

“I’ll telephone you when we leave regardless,” Aziraphale promised, understanding him. “Anathema has your mobile number, so it won’t be an issue. You’ll know as soon as we’ve gone off, and we’ll meet up again soon. Just as we had planned. Besides, you were always going to beat us to the rendezvous point. You speed demon.”

It was delivered too affectionately to be an insult or even a reprimand, something soothing in it that made Crowley want to sink against him and haul him in close. “Don’t start blessing me,” he muttered. “I’ll have a rash for weeks.”

“Only a few days. Now we can get a wiggle on or wait and see if he’ll leave. You know just what I’d prefer.” 

“We don’t have all day, angel. They’ve got a kid to get home to.” Their three year old, Olivia, was currently with Newt’s mum in her safely guarded home. But it wasn’t right to keep her there for hours, not when they both knew Anathema and Newt were worried about the separation. A covert mission to sneak them out of the bookshop would’ve been all well and good even four years earlier, but the stakes were different. Their own kid hadn’t even popped out yet, and Crowley understood that. The stakes were _much_ higher.

“Then off you pop,” Aziraphale said, pulling him around and bobbing up to kiss him despite the words. Or to punctuate them, though it was a long stream of exclamation points if that was the case.

“I’ll be fine,” Crowley assured him when it ended, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“Of course you will be, and so will we.”

Behind his back, Aziraphale pulled down a miracle and a blank body pillow appeared in the Bentley’s passenger seat that would look like whatever it needed to when looked at by anyone passing by. They’d been trying to avoid any overt miracles whilst out and about, wary of attracting too much attention even with their amulets, but Hastur didn’t so much as jump at the wave of holy energy touching the vehicle. “Dear, I don’t think he noticed my miracle.” He didn’t like that.

Neither did Crowley. “Think they’ve been ‘round too many angels recently?”

“I can’t imagine Hastur befriending angels.”

“Could you _imagine_ Michael bringing in a pitcher of holy water?”

“Ah. Well.” Aziraphale rested his cheek on Crowley’s shoulder. “I suppose not.” His fingers suddenly tightened in his blazer. “There’s someone else.”

He didn’t make Aziraphale let him go, simply picking his angel up and turning so they could both look out the window. Crowley hummed against his hair. “Not someone I recognise.”

“No, it’s Imamiah. Another Principality.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Newt wondered, seeing Crowley tense.

“Not... necessarily,” Aziraphale hedged. “They do seem to be carrying their sword, however.”

Anathema peered through the glass, trying to see any sign of a sword. There didn't seem to be anything, not at first, but then she noticed a line through their gilded aura. Right by their hip, there was a swordlike shape. “It doesn't look that big.”

“It hardly needs to be. It's the sharpness and the flames which matter.” Aziraphale frowned deeply. “I don’t like this, Crowley.”

“Look, what if I go as a snake? Slither out there. No one’ll even notice me if I go small enough. Besides, I’ve got my amulet. They’ll be blind to me anyway.” And should the amulet fail, his animal form had a different kind of demonic energy than his human one. The last time he’d been a snake in Hell, he hadn’t yet slithered onto the planet. It likely wouldn’t be recognised. And there was quite a bit of begrudging respect for turning snakes into an overall symbol of evil - or had been. Hastur may still not appreciate the sight of a serpent coming near him regardless of whether or not he recognised Crowley inhabiting the scales. He decided not to mention that. “Should go while they're distracted, though, yeah?” 

Aziraphale nodded, cheek rubbing against his shoulder, and broke away. Another gentle miracle poked a hole into the bottom of the door, large enough for a garter snake to slither through. Crowley rolled his shoulders and looked at the human couple. “If either of you mucks this up, you’ll have to answer to me.”

“For Earth’s sake, Crowley-”

“It’s fine,” Anathema interrupted. “We won’t screw up. You’ve helped us with Olivia. Of course we’ll help you with this.” Newt cleared his throat, but only nodded his own agreement.

Satisfied, Crowley traded limbs for snakeskin. A massive sleek rope of black and red that steadily shrank until he was small enough to slither under the door. Scenting the air, taking in his nervous angel’s smell beneath his favourite cologne and that ever-present one of just _angel_ , Crowley tossed his head. “Ssstop worrying.”

“You know, I don’t think I will.”

Crowley flicked his tongue out again and delved beneath the door. It shouldn't be too difficult to cross the street without limbs. Should it? 

The coverage of humans had dimmed, the energy of an angel and a demon who were clearly only in the vicinity to cause harm was a good warning tool for those with functioning self-preservation instincts. Very few cars drove by as well, so it was easy enough for Crowley to quickly slither down the steps and across the street, curling up to avoid the single car that drew overhead. He wasn't _surprised_ when the bookshop's front door swung open behind him, but he did hiss out a resigned sigh. His angel was allowed to be afraid. They were trying to avoid any direct miracles, after all, but this was going fine. Great, even. He hadn't been run over at all. 

As he drew closer to the Bentley, Crowley cast more and more glances Hastur’s way. The angel, too, worried him. Not because he was expecting to get doused in holy water, but that holy _fire_ wouldn't exactly feel pleasant should they draw their sword. Not to mention the stabbing. Crowley wasn't keen on getting stabbed. 

However, when Crowley rolled beneath the Bentley, he realised a very important flaw in the plan. How the Heaven was a snake supposed to open the door? 

He peeked at Aziraphale from beneath the vehicle, sure his angel had thought of the exact same flaw judging by the hands he wrung together over his rounded belly. He started to take a step forward, but Crowley wiggled his tail sharply to tell him _no_. 

And then a hand was on him. He hissed out a sharp gasp as fingers encircled his tail and yanked, dragging him out from beneath the Bentley and holding him in the air with a stupid, sweaty grasp. He hissed and writhed, snapping jaw hardly a deterrent. “Crowley,” Hastur snarled, startling him. How the Heaven did he recognise-? 

“We’d heard he was a snake,” Imamiah mused, “but I expected him to be a bit more... impressive.”

“Oi! I could sink my fangs into you now and discorporate you in seconds, you blasted-” Oh, his ring. His _clothes_. Everything he wore had been sent to a pocket dimension upon shifting. His amulet was _useless_ like this.

Hastur’s other hand caught Crowley around his throat, pinching his mouth shut, and the serpent writhed in indignation. He could get bigger easily, change back and get his ring back on and all would be- _Fuck._ He started to wriggle in earnest, gazing beyond Imamiah.

“It doesn’t matter. We’ll just have to discorporate him as planned.” The Principality sniffed, reaching for their sword, but paused. “There’s a human coming this way. Hide him.”

Hastur sneered. “Leave it to a bloody weak-willed angel to worry about humanity when we’ve got-”

The apparent human grabbed the sword at Imamiah’s hip, startling both them and Hastur. Humans weren’t supposed to see it, as carrying blades around wasn’t exactly the done thing around humans anymore. Pathetic beings with their societal norms and aversion to weaponry in polite society.

Further surprising, the sword burst into flames in the peculiar person’s grasp. Neither angel nor demon could focus on facial features or clothes or anything else, really. Even their height was a mystery. But that flaming sword was very clear when they aimed it straight at the angel. Their voice was distorted and broken, but the words could be made out, “I suggest, Imamiah, that you keep better hold of your things if you’re going to be out and about on Earth. No telling who might sneak up on you.”

“Azir-” They were abruptly cut off, right along with their head, and their corporation flickered and vanished into golden light before even hitting the pavement. 

The sword was swung towards Hastur. Only Crowley could see the calm fury in blue eyes, the hand resting on his swollen belly. The sweaty grip around his scales tightened, and Aziraphale took another step closer. “Put him down.”

“Oh, that’s bloody rich.” Hastur’s sludge black eyes couldn’t focus on anything but the sword, the voice too unusual to be recognisable, but even he knew who was there. “I could pop his head like a tick before you got close enough to discorporate me. Then what’ll you do? Come visit him in Hell?”

Aziraphale and Hastur could both feel the ripple of a demonic miracle, the serpentine body turning a little more durable. The angel’s brow rose at Hastur’s irritable swearing. “Fascinating that you think he’d stay in Hell when discorporated. You can barely hold onto him when he's got a proper body.”

“Even if he leaves, it doesn't mean anything,” Hastur snarled. “He won't be able to keep _you_ safe. You or the bastard freak growing in you.”

Aziraphale lunged forward and Hastur hopped - _hopped_ \- backwards. It wasn't as graceful a move as the angel wanted it to be, his balance off, but Hastur couldn't see the way he adjusted his stance to accommodate the baby. The sword he held steady. Crowley, however, began to wriggle and writhe in earnest, fangs elongated and dripping venom. “Our child is none of your business!”

“It's everybody's business.” He had to adjust his grip on Crowley when he changed size, his tail looping around Hastur’s wrist to squeeze in the hopes of crushing his corporation’s bones. Hastur just squeezed his head in retaliation, neither of them letting up until Crowley’s eyes threatened to pop out of his skull. He'd never gone up against a Duke of Hell like this before. He’d never particularly wanted to. This was exactly the sort of thing he’d wanted holy water for way back in 1862. He hadn’t yet gotten around to asking - or, well, hadn’t yet figured out _how_ to ask - Aziraphale for more. 

As much as Aziraphale had been designed and trained to fight, Crowley’s hands had never been intended to curl into fists. He’d been an artist first, one of the creators. Even in the first war, he’d been on the sidelines with every intention of avoiding the actual swords and shields and general fisticuffs. Not his scene.

With the Fall had come even more fighting, though it had been to establish a hierarchy. Crowley had stayed in the background then too. There wasn’t a choice now, though. Like standing on an airbase, ready to face off against Satan with nothing but a tire iron, his angel, and a scattering of humans. And the Antichrist, sure, but Crowley had been woefully unprepared for the entire ordeal. He felt similarly now, size fluctuating in his efforts to break free from a grip that only seemed to grow tighter by the thrash and, hang on a tick, was Hastur actually trying to mutter at him?

Crowley paused long enough to realise that, yes, Hastur was indeed saying words. Attempting to have a conversation with a flaming sword aimed in his direction and a squirming serpent in his grasp. “What the _fuck_ are you on about?” he managed, garbled though it was with Hastur squeezing his mouth shut.

“That _thing_ he’s carrying is a demon killer, and you should be bleedin’ terrified. Not trying to play house in a fucking bookshop. You’d be lucky if we discorporated you first.”

“That _thing_ he’sss carrying happensss to be half-mine, you ssstupid-”

“Bet it’ll kill him too. S’prised he’s even able to handle it growing. Maybe that’s why he’s so big. Extra room.”

Crowley whipped his head around and managed to sink his fangs into Hastur’s wrist. It was like biting a lily pad, spotted skin tinged with a distinct taste of swamp water, and Crowley blurted some extra venom into the bite like a gag reflex before ripping his mouth away and hissing his disgust.

Aziraphale glanced at him. “Crowley? Are you- oh!”

He barely had a chance to get out of the way, Hastur taking a desperate shot at him. Hands burning with an unholy flame that just tickled Crowley a little, he leapt forward to take a swipe at what he knew to be an angel. When he turned on his heel to strike a blow, Crowley falling to the pavement, Aziraphale swung the sword up to block him. Unholy and holy flames met again and again, the angel having to take step after step backwards as he struggled to find his center of balance. Between not having fought anyone for millennia, Hastur just seemed determined to hit him at least once before Crowley’s venom finished killing his body. It was almost too fast for Aziraphale to follow, muscle memory alone keeping his sword swinging for block after block. His training was six thousand years old and, well, he’d grown soft. He was growing a child, and he desperately kept his belly safe with each feint and attack and dodge.

It was starting to draw attention, though, a small crowd forming around the two beings battling with fire and a snake. Not a normal sight, even in Soho. “Crowley, the humans!”

“Bugger the humansss!” he snapped, tail winding around Hastur’s ankle and yanking. It didn’t topple him, but it threw him off balance enough that Aziraphale was able to attack. A quick advance and a diagonal slash had inky blood oozing from his chest.

“I have this! Please just-” Aziraphale stumbled back when Hastur sprang forward, just barely swinging his sword up to block a wildly thrown punch. His back hit the wall of the business behind him, and there was no further room to retreat.

Crowley was suddenly standing behind Hastur, yanking him back by his burnt trenchcoat. And if the sudden transformation of a snake to a human wasn’t an attractor of attention-

“Aziraphale, _kill him_!”

He lunged forward, the blade sinking into Hastur’s chest and twisting. His body bubbled and burned away, vanishing as quickly as Imamiah’s had. A demonic miracle flared, every phone with footage suddenly having a corrupted file and memories filming over. Their notice of the flaming sword and the angel wielding it did the same, the regular bustle of the street returning.

Crowley stared at him, looking him over and checking for any injuries. “This is like deja vu,” he said. Like a joke. It was a poor attempt, strained at the edges.

“You absolute menace. Obviously, we need a special amulet for your serpentine self if you're going to go about changing forms.” The point of the blade hit the pavement, Aziraphale leaning against the hilt and blowing out an exhausted puff of air. Whether or not Hastur had been originally trained to fight, he was a demon ready to battle whatever the cost. Not being able to fully see him was clearly not a deterrent. 

“Douse that for me, dove. Not really in the mood to get burnt today.”

“Oh? Oh! Yes, I-” The flame went out with a thought, but he kept it in his grasp as Crowley stepped forward and gently touched him to soothe his own worries. The gentle strokes from shoulders to wrists soothed them both, the sword clattering against the pavement as Aziraphale reached for his husband and was bundled in a tight hold. “You idiot.”

“I’m not the one who picked up a sword whilst _pregnant_.”

Aziraphale nestled his chin on Crowley’s shoulder. “Needs must.”

“You bassstard.”

The slip of his hiss was as telling as the tight grip of Aziraphale’s hips, the way his hands left them to slide up his back in a smooth, long stroke. His overprotective demon. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Yeah, well, next time you think you've got control of a situation, remember that you’re at a small disadvantage. They want to discorporate me, so they can get to you.” Crowley cupped one of his cheeks, the other arm still firmly around him to keep the baby wedged between them. “We can't let that happen.”

“We won't, but we should go. I’ll put the sword in a case in the bookshop, and we'll resume the plan.” Aziraphale tipped his head into the gentle press of his palm. “Same meeting spot?”

Crowley’s fingers flexed. Replacements and possibly even reinforcements were going to come their way soon. It was the safest possible time to go, but he didn't have to like it. “Alright. Alright, angel, just be careful, yeah? Still want you to call me.”

“Of course. I think hearing your voice the entire time will reassure me.” It would reassure them both, but he wasn't going to force Crowley to admit that. “And the baby. They're kicking up quite the storm.”

“I can feel it. Probably throwing a tantrum over you coming so close to getting hurt.”

Aziraphale humphed. “Or they could simply sense Hastur’s negative intentions and are irritated by them, knowing you and I would keep them safe.”

“Clever like you, then.” Crowley gave him a last squeeze before easing back and laying a hand over the spot they seemed most active. He rubbed gently, soothing both the baby and their parents alike. “Alright. Go on, dove. I'm going to wait until you're inside again.”

“Of course. And do drive safely, my dear. We don't want too many miracles attracting attention.”

His eyes rolled behind his lenses. “I know.”

Aziraphale kissed his cheek before stepping back, checking both sides of the street before crossing again. 

“Are you okay?” Anathema asked, taking Aziraphale’s arm to help him up the bookshop steps. “I'm not going to tell you not to go around grabbing swords now that you're pregnant, but all that adrenaline...”

“Oh, believe me, the baby's been kicking quite firmly. I don't believe they liked Hastur very much.”

“Does anyone?” Newt asked, genuinely curious. 

“You know, I don't believe so. It's not really, ah, Hell's way.” Another delightful way Crowley was different from other demons, he mused as the door was closed and locked behind them. “None of them seem to like one another much at all, and they do seem to make themselves as unpleasant as possible deliberately. Living up - or down, rather - to proper Hellish expectation. Though from what I’ve seen of demons and heard from Crowley, Hastur seems to take it to a rather extreme level. He - what was it? - has bought into his own hype.”

Newt nodded in understanding, watching with him as Crowley got behind the wheel of the Bentley. Anathema chuckled, hugging her elbows as a scream of tires signaled Crowley’s definition of “driving safely.” “Aziraphale, you’re going to be one of those parents who enjoys torturing their kids, aren’t you?”

His brow furrowed, the words disrupting his sigh. Ridiculous demon. “I beg your pardon.”

“Not like _that_. It’s playful. Kids always seem to be mortified by parents who think they’re cool enough to use modern slang.”

Crowley would roll his eyes and tease when he used phrasing from the modern era, but with a fondness Aziraphale quietly adored. The idea that such a thing would be _embarrassing_ to their child was... intriguing. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Anytime my dad ever used slang when I was a teenager, I’d get very embarrassed. He seemed to enjoy it.”

Aziraphale tucked that knowledge away for future use with a smile. That wasn’t a detail one could learn from a parenting book. “I see.”

“I’m looking forward to doing it to Olivia. One day, I’m going to call something sus in front of her and enjoy every syllable of her mortified groan.”

“Sus?”

“Suspicious. In ten years, it’ll be old enough to be dead but new enough to still be known. When I was a teenager, my dad would say things were ‘x-treme’ or ‘radical.’ I should’ve known he did it to mess with me, but...”

Aziraphale tucked that new word away as well. He hadn’t heard Crowley use it yet, so it must be incredibly current. Or _hip_. Yes, he was going to have to dust up on his more modern slang. Crowley would likely appreciate it, even if the baby wouldn't. 

He rubbed a hand over his stomach, the overactive little thing pressing what felt like both hands and feet against his belly. He wondered if it should hurt more than it did, but there was nothing but a dull pressure when they got extra active like this and it was still more like bubbles popping when their movements were more sluggish. “Anathema, did it ever hurt when Olivia was kicking?” 

“Why?” All teasing vanished as she looked him over, studying him as well as his aura. “Are you hurting? Where? How?” 

“No, my dear girl. I'm only curious.”

She hummed, but seemed satisfied by what she saw - or didn't see, rather - in his aura. “It got uncomfortable when she got bigger in there, but I wouldn't say it ever really _hurt_. But it's also-” 

“Different for everyone? Yes, I expected as much. It seems a great many details are extremely reliant on the pregnant person and the little person they're pregnant with.” Aziraphale let his hand fall away so he could pick up the Hoya Kerri. The two suitcases which held all of their belongings were already in the back of the Reliant Robin. “Well. Let's be off, shall we?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our angel got his sword, lol  
> You can entirely blame Saminander, the artist from the previous chapter for that. I saw their wonderful sketch of Aziraphale with a sword and went a bit feral  
> 💖


	6. Tartan on the Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cottage needs decorating, and Aziraphale feels a little... heated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back! I won't present any excuses for why it's taken a month, but we'll just put a stamp of _LIFE_ on it and that'll be that.
> 
> Dunno when the next chapter will arrive, but this one leaves off with some sweet, sweet smut. One demon is very attentive.

Leaving the bookshop wasn't easy. It wasn't the most difficult thing Aziraphale had ever done, perhaps, but the shop had been his for more than two centuries and he hadn't been expecting to part with it. Not yet.

He’d spent several minutes more standing by the door, gazing at the empty shelves, the blank spots where furniture and odds and ends had been. It all seemed so vacant and all around him, the building seemed to feel the same. He'd touched the doorframe on his way out. “This isn't a permanent farewell,” he promised. “You've been wonderful to Crowley and I, and I shan't forget it. You'll be safe yet.”

The building had given a shudder that felt like acceptance, and Aziraphale had left. 

He'd also had to fumble through using Anathema’s phone with her in the backseat with Crowley’s plant and Newt - banished from using the mobile - beside him, trying to offer helpful suggestions. After the first had resulted in the telephone freezing and having to be restarted despite even angelic expectation, Aziraphale learned not to follow Newton's well-meant advice. 

Eventually, he'd been able to hear Crowley’s voice over the telephone and he'd felt much better. 

His demon, however, didn't feel better until they were close again. He was wrapped around the steering wheel, several long metres of him. It brought Newt up short because, well, no matter how many times one was told someone was a snake, it was still a surprise to see an enormous one in a car. Especially when his voice was still coming through the phone. 

Aziraphale, who had recognised his partner's increase of hissing for what it was, relinquished the mobile telephone to Anathema, continued to the vehicle, and opened the driver's side door. “Darling, what are you doing? You were _just_ a snake and they sensed you. Your ring-” 

“Exsssactly. Needed to practicsse.” Crowley lifted his head and Aziraphale noticed a subtle change in one of the scales of his throat. 

“Oh,” he sighed, reaching out and gently brushing his thumb against a single golden scale amongst the rich reds which made up his underside. He could feel the thrum of his own angelic expectation in it. “I didn't realise you could do something like this.”

“I can change everything elssse on my body. Didn't think ssscales would be an excsseption.” Crowley's tongue flicked out almost on reflex when Aziraphale cupped his chin, fingers stroking gently. 

“Clever old serpent,” he murmured. “They truly don't know what they're dealing with between the two of us, do they?” 

“Mm. Gonna make my venom quicker to react, too. Anybody elssse comes near you, and they won't have time to throw a punch. Let alone back you into a wall.”

Clever, protective old serpent. Aziraphale’s smile somehow turned fonder. 

“Do you guys need anything else?” Anathema wondered. “While we're still here.”

“I don't believe so. You have Crowley’s telephone number.” Aziraphale looked back at them, hand finding itself caught in Crowley’s when he shifted forms. “Should you need anything, please don't hesitate to call.”

Anathema looked meaningfully at his round stomach, brows lifting. “If _we_ need anything?” 

Newt adjusted his glasses with a small smile. “We'll call,” he promised, carrying the plant up to them. “But you should too. If you need anything at all. Or if, er, you'd just like to see us?”

“My dear boy, I think that can certainly be arranged and it’s certainly mutual. We would love for you to bring Olivia with you to visit us next we meet.”

“She's excited about the baby,” Anathema said with a chuckle. “We had to tell her why we were coming to, uh, help you move, so she got to learn that not just moms have kids. Luckily, Newt’s mum was fine with her jumping out of the car yelling about boys having babies.”

“I told you she would be. I don’t think she understands, but she’s very supportive.”

“She also just assumed that you’re trans, and we didn’t correct her. If that’s okay?”

Aziraphale thought quietly about how he’d felt in the doctor’s office, how the practitioner had assumed the same. It wasn’t an accurate label. None could ever be fully accurate for them, even though Aziraphale did have his preferred pronouns. They simply weren’t part of that binary. They weren’t _human_ , but “going native” was an accurate description of them in so many ways. Not to the extreme Heaven and Hell believed, but fine enough. “I think, perhaps... agender may be the best word to use. If you do choose to correct her in the future. But I’m very glad to hear that she’s so open-minded.”

“Not exactly _normal_ for that generation and above, is it?” Crowley wondered. The wave of his hand was both dismissive and managed to encourage their suitcases to leave Newt's car and fill the Bentley's trunk instead.

“ _Mama just killed a man_ ,” she protested. 

Crowley’s eyes rolled behind his sunglasses. “You're fine.”

“ _Put a gun against his head._ ” 

Crowley turned the radio down, and Aziraphale smiled as he took the plant from Newton’s grasp. The poor car had clearly missed her driver something terrible. “I suppose that’s our cue to continue on. Do call upon us, my dears. This has been lovely.”

“It’s been stress on top of stress,” Crowley corrected, sneer not dissipating when Aziraphale sent him a sharp look.

“Some mild stressors aside, it’s been lovely seeing you both.” Aziraphale ignored Crowley’s gagging sound, and walked around to the other side of the Bentley. The door swung open for him as if excited by his presence and Aziraphale gave the roof a fond pat before sliding inside. Crowley set the plant on the backseat so he wouldn’t have to wiggle himself around to do it.

“We’ll see you,” Anathema agreed, tugging on Newt’s arm to get him to Dick Turpin so they could head back to their child. Quietly hoping they stayed the night with Newt’s mother, Aziraphale sent them a small blessing. Not enough to get them noticed, but certainly enough to ensure a safe journey home.

A small demonic wave followed, boosting Aziraphale’s blessing with something that would fix the dozen little issues their vehicle was going to be suffering after so much driving about. Crowley didn’t mention Aziraphale’s fond look, tapping on the steering wheel as he waited for the Reliant Robin to putter off on its abysmal three tyres.

“It really was nice to see them. We'll need to send them our address.”

“I'll text 'em later,” Crowley offered and noticed a small shift in the car's energy. “Oi!” he protested, but it was already too late. It sprouted a seat belt and buckled Aziraphale in, the band _padded for comfort_. “How many times do I have to tell you _not_ -” 

“ _Baby_ ,” Freddy's voice crooned, and Crowley smacked the steering wheel. 

Amused, Aziraphale reached out to give the dash a pat. “Don't mind him, my dear. That's very kind of you.”

“It's pointless, is what it is. We're not going to crash. I've never crashed.”

“Need I remind you that we met poor Anathema when you hit her?” 

“She hit _me_ ,” Crowley argued, and the Bentley's sudden bleat of _Bicycle! Bicycle!_ seemed to be an agreement. 

“Your headlights weren't on.”

“So she can't see in the dark. S'not my fault.”

“ _Another one bites the dust,_ ” Bentley agreed. 

Aziraphale lifted both brows. “'Another one?'” he echoed and the music fell quiet. 

“The Bentley has a limited vocabulary,” Crowley said quickly, and Aziraphale hummed. 

He was sure whatever or whoever his demon had hit hadn't been damaged too badly else he would've heard about it. Crowley didn't actively try to physically injure humans, after all. It wasn't his style, and it never had been. “In any case, leave the poor dear alone. I appreciate that the Bentley is as invested in my safety as you are, don't you?” 

“That's cheating,” Crowley pointed out mildly, pressing down on the accelerator. They didn't exactly putter onto the road, but they certainly didn't speed off as Crowley was wont to do. “Oi! Let's _go_. You weren't doing this to me earlier.”

“ _Baby_.”

“No, no, no,” Crowley argued, pointing an accusing finger at the radio. “We are an angel and a demon. We're not going to get discorporated driving a little over the speed limit, and the baby's going to be _fine_.”

“ _Open your eyes. Look up to the sky and_ -” 

“Stop.”

Aziraphale chuckled. He wasn't often audience to one of these arguments. The Bentley was normally very happy to follow Crowley's instructions, to push the boundaries of speed as well as human physics. “Are we doing the speed limit?” 

“How the bloody Heaven should _I_ know what the speed limit is?” he demanded. 

A snap solved that question easily enough, a sign appearing on the side of the road for their perusal. Then Aziraphale leaned forward and gave the dash a fond pat. “You can at least do the speed limit. As I understand it, they're the safest speed to go based on human mathematics.”

So the car sped up and went no faster, no matter how firmly Crowley pressed on the accelerator. He gave in with a grunt, leaving his hands on the wheel but letting the car take control. She knew where they were going in general terms, though Crowley would have to make the right turns when they drew nearer to their new home. Satisfied, the Bentley restarted her favourite album and played under the easy conversation that developed between her driver and passenger. _Passengers_ , plural, though what lived in Aziraphale’s womb couldn't yet communicate. The Bentley was only vaguely aware of the shapes and sizes under the new seat belt, but was going to keep them and the angel safe. 

Crowley had always insisted, long before the world hadn't ended and even before Aziraphale had taken that first quiet ride in 1941, that keeping the angel safe was the most important thing that could be done. That wasn't going to change now, no matter how much the car actually wanted to speed. She and Crowley had had their fun on the way to the rendezvous point, and there was no doubt that Crowley would take her out again soon enough.

Crowley was already planning on it. As annoyed as he was to be in his car and doing the annoying speed limit, it was good to be back behind the wheel. It was good to feel as if he had some control over his life again. There'd been such little opportunity for that lately. They'd been prisoners in what had felt like a home for two centuries, and the respite hadn't been nearly enough. Their rings, as much as the affectionate reasoning made his heart tighten, were protection first. Their new home, no matter how _right_ it felt, was protection first. 

The Bentley, an excited purchase done in the name of _no more horses_ and some facsimile of freedom, was now leaning into protection. It was an old theme for them, though. The moment he'd decided that this angel should be in his life, they'd both had to contend with the dangers. 

They had an advantage now. 

“Y'know what I discovered, angel?” 

“Hm?” 

“They're afraid of us. Us and the baby.”

Aziraphale turned towards him, brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

Crowley looked at him, trusting the Bentley to keep them on the road. “Hastur insinuated that the baby was something no one has ever seen before.”

“Which is true.”

“ _But_ not the important bit. He seems to think I should be worried because the baby might be able to destroy demons. Just because they're half-angel. And you should be worried it’ll kill you too because they’re half-demon.”

“That... doesn't make sense, Crowley.”

“I know that, and you know that. Just like I know and you know how we survived our trials. But _they_ think we're passing all-around immunity to the baby.”

Which was something neither of them knew. Their individual immunity to both holy water and Hellfire was false, after all. And neither of them, without even having to discuss it, were going to risk their baby to testing their survival in water or flame. Rather than a dual immunity, they could very well cancel each other out. It wouldn't be the first time. 

“So, they... Gosh. They think we've created a weapon. An unkillable weapon.” And he felt ill just thinking about it, fingers curling and uncurling over a newer, and therefore comfortably miracled, waistcoat. “Crowley, they're an _infant_.”

“So was the Antichrist.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, not opening them when Crowley’s hand entangled with his. So had been the Antichrist, yes, and Heaven and Hell had certainly wanted to use him. Right from the start. “They're not touching our baby.”

“Ever,” Crowley agreed. “They're not touching our kid. We're gonna take 'em home, decorate their nursery, and just be parents. And nobody's taking that away.” He glanced skyward, hoping She knew how serious he meant that. If She was even paying attention.

Aziraphale knew he did, knew where his thoughts had gone. He could only sigh, smoothing Crowley’s fingers and resting them against the curve of his stomach. He still had faith in Her, still had belief in some sort of a plan. The ineffable one couldn’t possibly have their child’s possible demise on it because, well, he had absolutely no doubt that if Heaven and Hell got a hold of them, their baby would be put through holy water and Hellfire. It would only be to satisfy their dark curiosity or soothe vile fears. There wasn’t a benefit anywhere, so She couldn’t possibly allow it to happen. 

He believed that as strongly as he did in their rings, in what they meant as amulets and what they meant as symbols. “I’ve done some thinking.”

Caught off guard by the amusement underlying Aziraphale’s tone, Crowley’s brows lifted. “About...?”

“I don’t like neon orange. What would you say to beige?”

\----

Aziraphale clasped his hands together once two simultaneous snaps filled the living room with their furniture. Nothing in the space was Crowley’s yet but for the large flatscreen hanging on one wall and the Hoya Kerii perched on the coffee table. Aziraphale’s well-loved armchair and sofa and a loveseat from the back and, of course, his coffee table and a darling additional armchair which matched Aziraphale’s favourite in comfort but certainly not style. Wingbacked, yes, but black and a - ugh - recliner. It clashed rather spectacularly, in fact, but he looked at his husband and caught a fond gaze looking back. That was enough reason to keep it. 

They populated the kitchen next, the foyer with Aziraphale’s coat rack and umbrella stand, then the angel was treated to a very sweet carry up the stairs. He could manage on his own and would have to as even Crowley shouldn't be expected to carry him up the flight of stairs every single time Aziraphale wanted to take the trip, but being cradled in his arms was far from a hardship. 

In the bedrooms, they took one over for their desks. Aziraphale couldn't help but chuckle, his cluttered, rounded wooden antique clashing with Crowley's modern, angular marble piece. The chairs, too, were ridiculous, though he knew Crowley’s throne was rather comfortable. He had a very fond memory of sitting upon it himself with Crowley between his legs, and wouldn't mind a repeat with his current configuration. He didn't voice it, however, the two of them leaving some of Aziraphale’s favourite books on shelves in their office room before crossing to the one they'd selected for their bedroom. 

This was where active decisions had to be made. Of course, that meant it was also where the bickering began. 

Aziraphale barely lifted a hand before his wrist was grabbed. “Absolutely not.”

“I beg your pardon. My bedroom furniture is perfectly acceptable.”

“It's all two hundred years old.”

“I fail to see the issue with that, dear boy.”

“Exactly. We're using mine.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Your bedroom consists of a single table you didn't even have near the bed and a bed, for that matter, which is hardly more than a mattress.”

“Oi! It’s fine. You’ve never complained about it.”

“And you’ve never complained about mine. We’ve been using it for a month.”

“Because I replaced the bloody springs and horsehair with something out of this century.”

Aziraphale gasped. “You _didn’t_!”

“Twenty years ago.” Crowley's smirk was nothing short of infuriating for the angel. “Knew you never went up there and used it.”

Jerking away, two quick snaps had his entire bookshop bedroom in their new one. It didn’t fill up the room as it had at the bookshop. Partly because it wasn’t overrun by piles of books and partly because their new space was larger. The mattress went decidedly lumpy and, even though Aziraphale didn't think it looked particularly appealing, he was going to choose aesthetic over comfort. It was the principle of the thing.

Though a snap beside him shoved all of Aziraphale’s furniture out of the way and replaced the bed with the sleek black-covered mattress from the Mayfair flat. Comfortable, yes. Aziraphale’s back _wanted_ that mattress, but he sniffed and snapped his own back. 

“Stop that.”

“I don't know what you are referring to.”

Crowley sent him an unamused look and snapped again, this time adding his snake-themed side table to the clutter of furniture. “Then stop.”

“You're the one being childish,” Aziraphale scoffed, another snap banishing Crowley’s things somewhere or other. 

Crowley simply brought them back, this time sending all of Aziraphale’s things away. “Me?!” 

“You started this.”

“And saying that's not childish?” 

“As a matter of fact, it absolutely is not.”

They went back and forth, Aziraphale’s furniture growing more ornate and Crowley’s getting more angular and monochromatic in retaliation, his mattress getting softer and Aziraphale’s lumpier, until they snapped simultaneously. The frisson of their combined miracles had a bright flash of light filling the room, Aziraphale finding himself bundled against Crowley, face pressed against his shoulder to keep from being blinded by it. 

Between his sunglasses and the way he pressed his face into Aziraphale’s hair, Crowley was just as protected. But he could feel the heat of it. Not enough to hurt, but enough to be noticeable. It prickled intensely across his back, but in the almost pleasant way Aziraphale’s divinity tended to feel the few times he'd been in his true form's presence. 

“Shit.”

“Yes, rather. Haven't done that in some time, have we?” 

“Mm. Last time, we caused the Tibetan Plateau, didn't we?” 

“I believe so. I nearly got in quite a bit of trouble, if you recall. If the water hadn't ended up being so vital to multiple ecosystems in the area and, well, if I hadn't written that you were trying to destroy all the creatures...”

Crowley rolled his eyes. They'd been bickering over the best ways to protect those rare creatures at their high elevations when their actual assignments had depressed them both, though neither had been ready to admit that. Barely to themselves and definitely not to each other, not yet. The world had still been very young and their friendship still without a label. 

“I wrote the same thing, took the loss.”

“Yes, I recall that as well.” There had been many wins and losses between them, all in an effort to stay equal. They'd known without speaking, right from that first stilted conversation on the eastern wall of Eden, that they each wanted to stay on the planet and the simplest way to do that was to be equally matched. If that meant Crowley snuck a few extra children onto the Arc or Aziraphale was able to take credit for a jointly created geographical spot, so be it. It had kept them on Earth. 

It had brought them to where they were. 

Happy, free, and expecting. 

Aziraphale drew back and peeked around Crowley with a small gasp. “Gosh, dearest, look.”

Of course, some of Aziraphale’s furniture had made it. A Victorian armoire stood proudly against one wall and a vanity from the same era was settled nearby, but the wood was a darker shade, a rich dark cherry. The vanity's single seat had been replaced with a bench big enough for two. 

And the bed, well, the bed was big enough for twice that. Four poster still, but lacking the ostentatious canopy, it was framed by two nightstands in that same dark cherry. There was a bit of detailing in the bed posts, but it was distinctly serpentine and the headboard had an intricately carved set of angelic wings. Each of their preferences were on display, right down to the covers on the mattress: soft dove grey sheets covered in a duvet patterned with a familiar tartan. Beaming, Aziraphale tugged at his bow tie. “Well! I think this may just work.”

“There's _tartan_ on the bed.”

“Yes, but not on the curtains.” Aziraphale bobbed up and kissed his cheek. “You can change the duvet if you like, darling.”

“Ngk.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Now I'm feeling rather peckish, sweet. Why don't we leave the boxes for now and find some lunch?” 

Crowley settled his hands on Aziraphale’s curved stomach. “Yeah, alright.”

\----

The mattress didn't squeak when Crowley moved, yet did for Aziraphale. Different expectations. The firmness of the mattress followed the ebb and flow of unconscious or subconscious desires, a little lump following the small of Aziraphale’s back to keep him comfortably elevated there as he tried to read. 

It was too hot to read. Or, rather, he was. No amount of fewer blankets, thinner sheets, thinner clothes could cool him. 

Desire wasn't a new sensation for him. He'd waited eons to be wrapped in specific arms, blood heating and swimming beneath his skin in distinctly human ways. He'd already used his celestial body to indulge in so much that was human - food and drink chief among his sins. Imagine if Heaven had known about the dancing, the steps familiar to him, the kiss that punctuated each set of steps a quiet secret. A harmless, private indulgence when the lips he'd wanted had been unreachable, even in those moments wherein Crowley was right next to him. 

Such as right then. He was so close. Aziraphale’s grip tightened on the sides of his book as the sheets rustled, watching long legs shift beneath the blankets. His side was more of a warm bundle than Aziraphale’s at the moment, and it was a problem. Harder to resist or ignore now that he knew what it might be like. He knew what it felt like when Crowley touched him, tasted him, moved inside him. 

Aziraphale pressed his head back against the pillows, feeling himself clench wetly around nothing. This configuration felt so different from his usual, and he was still getting used to it. It wasn't unpleasant and once the baby was born, he may use it again for special occasions, but it wasn't being very good to him at the moment. If he had his usual, his pyjamas would be distinctly tented, but there wasn’t anything so incriminating with this. He just felt wet and open and _empty_ , pressing his thighs together doing nothing to ease the throbbing. Even thoughts of Heaven didn’t dull the urges as they’d once very easily done. Nothing was as unattractive to him as Gabriel’s overly handsome, smug face, but thoughts of him slipped into Crowley’s wry grin as he spoke of blowing Hellfire at him and that just made him ache anew. Nothing was _more_ attractive to him than Crowley’s delight.

Were he alone, he’d reach down and touch. Find that sensitive bud and give himself some quick relief. Then, perhaps, he could rest. Not sleep, as his mind couldn’t turn itself off no matter how exhausted his body felt under that burning need, but rest. Not even the baby was kicking, sound asleep themselves, so he didn't even have a distraction. He closed his book and quietly set it aside. Perhaps he'd make use of their new bathroom after all. Sink into the large tub and find some relief on his own. 

He didn't do more than move the covers aside before he found the long line of his demon pressed into his side. Sleepily pouted lips pressed against his throat, clogging his breath, and familiar hands stroked down his side and along the wide curve of his belly reverently. Aziraphale nearly parted his legs in silent plea, but kept his thighs mashed together. Surely Crowley wouldn't actually be interested. Not as far along as he was now.

“What're you doing?” 

“I- I thought I'd have a bath.”

“Mm.” His wandering hand drifted to Aziraphale’s thigh, closer to his center, and it throbbed from anticipation. “A sexy bath?” 

“ _No_ ,” he denied quickly, nearly whining when Crowley’s fingers passed lightly over his clothed mound.

“Seems like you could use a sexy bath more than a normal one,” Crowley murmured, finding the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and slipping his hand beneath them. “D'you have any idea what it's like trying to sleep when you've got lussst spilling into the air?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks burned with more than just desire as Crowley pushed his pants out of the way. He stroked through the soft hair, encouraging Aziraphale’s legs to part enough for him to find the outer lips. The gentle strokes made him shiver. “Crowley... I...”

“Started having a very interesting dream,” he continued, voice still low and rough with sleep. Aziraphale turned his head to hide in the crook of his neck. “My very gorgeous angel sitting on my face. Just taking my tongue and clinging to our headboard, yelling my name again and again.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated, legs parting further. He could feel a distinct, firm line against his thigh and knew he wasn't the only one who was too hot to sleep. “I d-didn't mean to wake you.”

“Oh, I know.” A finger slipped between easily parted lips, and Aziraphale moaned against Crowley’s throat when he began to gently circle the sensitive nub of his clit. “You wouldn't already be this worked up if you'd been planning that. Definitely wouldn't have been getting out of bed.”

“Oh- I- _Crowley_.”

He caught the nub between thumb and forefinger, smiling against Aziraphale’s hair as his husband's legs shifted restlessly against the sheets. “You really are worked up, aren't you, angel? So wet and probably already open. You've got quite the imagination when you feel like using it. Were you thinking about me? Trying not to?”

Aziraphale’s hips rolled when deft fingers abandoned his clit and dragged down his inner lips, two sinking deep without resistance. Oh, goodness, this configuration did have its perks. “I- Yes, I- I wasn't certain you'd want-” 

“I want, angel. Aziraphale, I always want you. You can feel it, can't you?” 

Aziraphale reached up to grasp Crowley’s arm, feeling the firm length of cock rutting sinuously against his thigh. “Oh, yes, I can. I know. Crowley, please.”

His fingers slipped back a little, enough that he could rub his thumb against Aziraphale’s clit. “You're beautiful. You're going to come for me like this, then I think we should try out that dream. I don't even need to breathe, dove. Don't need to eat either, but I'll feast on you.”

The image alone had Aziraphale closing around Crowley’s fingers, breath coming out in wordless moans against his throat and sweat spreading across his brow as the thought worked right alongside the motions of those wicked fingers. Because, yes, Aziraphale could have an imagination and it was incredibly easy to imagine sinking onto his demon's mouth and having that serpentine tongue filling him. 

A tight ball formed low, steadily expanding as Crowley worked his clit and stroked his walls and whispered filthy compliments and filthier promises in a voice that was rough with more than just sleep now. “Aziraphale, my stunning angel. I'll make you feel even better than this if you let me.”

“Yes. Yes, I, yes, ye- _es_!” he cried, legs shaking and wet spilling as he gave in to sensation. He clung to Crowley as he came, barely muffled by his throat, and rode his fingers until he could breathe again. 

The touches slowed and stopped, Crowley’s lips traveling across his brow in gentle kisses and the wet disappearing from his fingers before he cupped Aziraphale’s waist. “Alright, angel?” 

“Oh...” Aziraphale kissed his throat, grip of him gentling. “More than, darling.”

“Mm. That offer wasn't spur of the moment, y'know. I meant it.”

“I assumed you had.” He shifted a leg, pressed it against Crowley’s length. “Just one this time?” 

“I wasn't planning on taking you, so yeah. Just the one.”

“Maybe I want both of my hands full,” Aziraphale teased, pleased by Crowley’s groan. 

“I should've known you'd be insatiable.”

“Perhaps so. I do enjoy sampling and savouring everything I can get, you know. Food, wine, good music, books - of course you'd be on that list. You and all the things you're able to make me feel.” Aziraphale slid his hands down as he spoke, Crowley’s pyjamas slithering down his thighs without much encouragement to free - oh, good - two slender penises. They each had a ridge along the underside, another piece of serpentine anatomy Crowley could fix on a whim, but pieces Aziraphale found himself adoring. His fingers slid along each bump, thumbs caressing the shafts. 

He tasted Crowley’s Adam's apple as it bobbed, as he gulped for air around his groans. There was the faintest hint of smooth scales over his skin, and Aziraphale only licked and sucked at his throat a little more firmly. “You and all the things I can make you feel,” he murmured, enjoying the restless rocking of Crowley’s hips. “You're exquisite, darling. The way you sound when you let me bring you pleasure is more beautiful than any choir.”

“Mngh, ngk, guh.”

Aziraphale kissed along his jawline, legs parting to invite Crowley between them, and he gasped when, instead, clever fingers found him again and slipped into the wet anew. Clothes disappeared with a thought, though neither were entirely sure whose thought it had been. “Oh, Crowley, _darling_ -” 

“I know,” Crowley murmured against his temple, wicked tongue reaching his ear. The forked tines tickled his earlobe and Aziraphale shuddered. “You're so sensitive like this, angel. You want more?” 

“Y-yes, but I wanted to- I like touching you.”

“I'll let you.” But he pulled out of reach and took Aziraphale’s hands. “Let me get my mouth on you first.”

“You truly aren't upset that I woke you, are you?” 

Grin wicked, Crowley helped him sit up on his knees and gave him a swift kiss. “Is that a real question? I think the answer's pretty obvious.”

Aziraphale couldn't see his cocks through the curve of his belly, but he could feel them, and he tightened wetly around nothing. “Oh... It is.”

Crowley helped guide Aziraphale up, wetting his lips as he gazed up at Aziraphale’s. Pink and damp, his release slick over plump thighs, the curve of his belly so much bigger than he’d spent six thousand years seeing. Knowing why was as arousing as it simply filled Crowley with pride and a quiet, buzzing awe. They’d created something staggering together.

“Now hold the headboard and sink down, angel.”

“Are you certain? I don’t wish to squa- _ah_ \- sh you.”

Crowley’s lips quirked as his breathing stopped, thumb rubbing over Aziraphale’s swollen clit. “You won’t. Won’t suffocate me either. But if it gets too much, I can always lift you up. You’re not too big for me, angel. My dove.”

Aziraphale’s thighs quivered as he slowly sank down, following Crowley’s hands as they guided him down. He’d done this to Crowley before, hauled him up when he’d worn a quim and eaten his fill. It was too easy to recall how loud he’d been, how he’d ridden Aziraphale’s face until his mouth and chin and cheeks were soaked. And he didn’t even have Crowley’s dextrous, demonic tongue.

Oh, his _tongue_.

Aziraphale cried out at the first languid lick, grip of their headboard tightening. It wouldn’t break. It wouldn’t even crack, even when his hold tightened further than any human’s possibly could. Crowley’s lips had found his clit, closed around the nub to suck. Warm and wet, the tines of his forked tongue flicking that sensitive spot with such precision that it took no time at all for Aziraphale to reach his peak. He pressed down, rewarded by a moan muffled by his folds as that mouth traveled down and that tongue pushed deep. Aziraphale whimpered, clenching around the slick appendage just to feel it thicken. Not quite as much as one of Crowley’s cocks, but noticeable and just as liable to thrust. He lapped and sucked, thumb returning to his clit to make Aziraphale shake apart yet again.

And again.

And again.

“Crowley! Crowley, oh- Crowley, my darling, I-” His hips rocked, mindless in the way he rode Crowley’s tongue. “Please, please, I can’t take- It- You’re-”

He groaned when a sure grip clutched at his waist and pushed up, thighs trembling as he was held just above Crowley’s mouth. His tongue slithered back out, shifting until it could be used to speak. “One more for me, angel. I know you can.” A finger slipped in, quirking just so to hit where Aziraphale was most sensitive, and a broken sob of pleasure was aimed at the ceiling when his head fell back. “My beautiful angel. You were aching for attention, weren’t you?” Even with a masquerade of normalcy, Crowley’s tongue rubbing teasingly over Aziraphale’s clit made him gasp and strain to sink down. His finger was still moving, wave after wave of pleasurous pressure building in Aziraphale’s gut. “You’re still aching for it. Still want to feel good.”

It was a temptation and Aziraphale knew it. One he could still say no to, as Crowley never took or gave without an out built in. He was going slower, softer than Aziraphale needed to fully crest. Even his tongue, his lips, were missing. Aziraphale could still say no and get treated to any soothing aftercare he may have craved. “One more. One more, yes.”

“Yes?” Crowley echoed, moving his finger with more purpose, more firmness. 

Aziraphale tried to press his thighs together, but had something very much in the way of that. “Crowley- Crowley, _yes_. One more. One m- one, one- I- Oh!” He cried out when Crowley’s tongue filled him again. Forked, but no thicker than normal, he lapped hungrily. Somewhere distant, Aziraphale wondered if this was what it might be like to be an oyster. Opened and sucked clean. He whimpered, eyes squeezing shut when Crowley did indeed suck.

And as orgasm built back up, layer after layer, that pressure exhausting after so many but unable to be fought, Crowley got to enjoy the symphony being sung for him. The praise unleashed and unfurled with abandon, sweet words having waited so many centuries to be free. When they were replaced with guttural moans and high whines, Crowley shifted his attention to Aziraphale’s overworked clit and had no sooner suckled the firm nub than fluid was spilling onto his chin and the body above him was jerking uncontrollably. 

The headboard rattled, unnoticed as Aziraphale seemed to implode, unleashing so much more than physical satisfaction, and Crowley’s own gasping groan was muffled. Aziraphale loved it. It was too much. He wanted more. He’d never handle it. There were tears on his cheeks when he finally resonated that hands and lips had left. Gentle fingers caressed quivering thighs, gentle kisses placed on the fuzzy vulva and along the underside of his stomach.

“Crowley...”

“Alright, angel?”

“I... I believe so.”

“Mm...” A hand slid up to rest against a hip, cupping gently. “How about a bath, dove? I’ll wash you.”

“A bubble bath?”

“‘Course.”

Aziraphale hummed, tight grip of the headboard slowly easing and his fingers flexing to give them some relief from the curled position they’d been trapped in. “That sounds marvelous, sweet. Oh! Oh, but you haven’t-”

“I did.”

Aziraphale shifted down until he could see Crowley’s face. “Did you? Untouched?”

“Your Grace jerked me off pretty spectacularly, actually. Didn’t have much choice.”

His cheeks went pink. “Oh.”

“Yup. So. Bath?”

Aziraphale looked into shining gold eyes, finding amusement and layer after layer of love. “Yes. I would like that very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We do finally learn baby's name next chapter! I've been eager to reveal it, so that'll be fun. Hopefully it'll also be enough incentive to get me to finish the damn thing soon, lol.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [SylWritesStuff](https://sylwritesstuff.tumblr.com/)!


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